Child of the Phoenix by Barbara Erskine

eternity before the thrashing hooves found the sand and Eleyne threw herself into Rhonwen’s arms, to be enveloped in the warmth of her cloak. It was Rhonwen who was sobbing as she hugged the shivering child to her.
    II
    ‘You should give her a damn good thrashing!’ Cenydd was halfway down his second horn of wine.
    ‘I have never beaten her!’ Rhonwen retorted. She had put Eleyne to bed with a hot stone wrapped in flannel at her feet, and a whispered promise that there would be no more visits to Einion in his cell in the woods.
    ‘That’s the trouble. She’s never known any discipline! She could have drowned, woman!’
    ‘I know.’ Rhonwen sat down, pulling her cloak around her. ‘It was my fault. I wouldn’t listen. I said she had to go back.’
    Cenydd laughed bitterly. ‘I told you no good would come of that. You are a fool, cousin, and Einion will not let go. I’ve heard stories about him. He uses his powers to get his way, even with the prince.’
    ‘No, he would not bewitch the prince!’ She shook her head. ‘He cares for Gwynedd above all else – for the whole of Wales. All he does is for the good of Wales.’
    Cenydd raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘By which I suppose you mean that he supports Gruffydd’s claim as heir to the principality?’
    Rhonwen looked nervously over her shoulder. ‘For pity’s sake, lower your voice! Of course he does. So does anyone of any sense. I had thought you were no supporter of the English party, Cenydd, or you would not be my friend.’ She paused to take another drink of wine. ‘I shall take her back to Aber. I can leave a message for Einion that the prince has sent for her. Even he cannot argue with that.’
    ‘And when you get there? How will you confront the Princess Joan?’
    Rhonwen shrugged. ‘I shall tell her there was an accident. Tell her that Eleyne needed to be with her mother …’
    Cenydd laughed. ‘You imagine she would believe that?’
    III
    ‘So, Eleyne, you tried to swim the Menai Strait on a pony.’ Llywelyn sat in his chair by the fire in the great hall at Aber. Near him Sir William de Braose lifted a goblet of wine. Both men were carefully concealing their admiration for the child. ‘What made you think you could do such a thing?’
    ‘The Romans did it, papa.’
    ‘The Romans did it.’ Llywelyn leaned back in his chair. ‘But the Romans waited until low tide, Eleyne, as the drovers do, and they had a reason.’
    ‘I had a reason.’ She coloured indignantly.
    ‘And what was that?’
    How could she tell him that it was because here at her father’s court she would be safe from Einion? Rhonwen had assured her that he would be told they had been summoned back to Aber, and that he would be content to wait. But wait for what? She was afraid. She had tried to wall off in some remote corner of her mind the strange vision she had seen in the depths of his fire, but it haunted her. It had not been a dream; it had come from outside. And she, under his instruction, had summoned it. But why? Why had she seen a man with a noose around his neck? A man being led to the gallows? Why, and who was he? Why had she not seen his face?
    She met her father’s eyes as calmly as she could. However much she disliked Einion and feared him, he had sworn her to secrecy and she would keep his secret. ‘I was bored at Llanfaes,’ she improvised bravely. ‘I am too old for children’s lessons. And I heard Sir William was here. I thought perhaps Isabella had come with him.’
    Sir William smiled. ‘I am not here voluntarily, little princess. Have you not heard? I was captured in battle. I am your father’s prisoner.’ He did not seem to be too upset by the situation, nor too uncomfortable, as he sat beside Llywelyn’s fire, drinking his captor’s wine. ‘Isabella is not with me.’
    ‘But she is still going to marry Dafydd?’ Eleyne glanced from one man to the other anxiously, all her eager plans threatening to crumble before her eyes.
    ‘That is one