her knuckles as she clutched her cloak, and somewhere in the distance she heard the howl of a wolf. She was on the slippery track, the road which bypassed the cluster of cottages around the church and mill, and had led up the river and across the mountains since before the Romans came; since the days of the old gods. She followed it easily in darkness made luminous by the snow.
Einion was waiting for her at the water’s edge where the trees made it dark again. For some reason she was not afraid. She could see nothing, her eyes slitted against the sleet, but she knew he was there. His cloak was blacker than the blackness around him, his beard a white blur. Beneath her cloak her fingers touched her crucifix for reassurance – the crucifix John had given her.
Standing beside Einion on the bank of the river, she could not see the water, save for the occasional glint of foam as it roared down towards the sea, but the ground beneath her feet vibrated with the strength of it.
‘You summoned me here?’ She spoke at last, her voice loud against the wind. Beneath the sharp cold of the sleet, she could smell the scents of the earth: the bitter incense of the leafmould soaked with melted snow beneath her feet, the cold green smell of fern and moss, the tang of wet rock.
‘It was you who wished to see me, princess.’
She could see his face now, his piercing eyes. Had she wished to see him? In those long days and nights when she had lain ill at Fotheringhay and the memory of her visions had spun in and out of her mind – had she wanted the reassurance of knowing how to control her dreams? When she walked so close to that other world – the world beyond the veil of the present – had she not wanted to know how to lift the veil and realised that Einion was her only key?
‘I do need your help,’ she said at last. ‘I saw things, but I couldn’t stop them happening …’
For a long time there was no reply, and she wondered if he had heard her over the roar of the trees and the water. At last he turned and held out his hands. She put her own into his without hesitation.
‘Your path no longer runs through the mountains of Eryri, princess,’ he said slowly. ‘Your destiny lies far away. The day you left Aber to go to your husband you changed, as the hare changes to a cat or the doe to a horse. You no longer tread the path I hoped for you. But that is the will of the goddess and she has given you her blessing. She will allow you to see what you need to see and she will help you to understand if that is her intention. It is her path you follow now.’
‘And where does my path lead? Can you see?’ She stared into his face. His eyes were barely visible in the darkness; she could see nothing of his expression.
Again the silence. She felt the energy flowing through his hands into hers, felt his eyes looking deep into her skull.
‘Your destiny lies in the far north,’ he said at last. ‘In the forests of Caledon, in the land of the Scots. It is there you will live the greater part of your life and there you will die.’
The ice-cold needles of sleet penetrated her cloak, soaking through her gown, making her shiver.
‘And my husband will be king?’ She whispered the question but he heard her.
‘I see you at the king’s side. I see you as the mother of a line of kings. You will be the life of a king and you will be the death of a king. The Sight will be yours and it will be denied you.’ He stopped, his words snatched away into the darkness, and she felt the strength of his hands die away. He released her fingers and turned from her. ‘Tomorrow I return to Mô n. I have asked your father’s leave to end my service with him. I wish to spend the last of my days alone, preparing myself for the next life.’
‘Then who will I turn to for a guide?’ She felt a wave of panic as she tried to grasp the things he had told her.
He smiled for the first time. ‘That I cannot see. But it will not be me. I shall be dead before the snows have melted on Yr Wyddfa in the spring.’
‘No!’ Her cry was anguished.
‘It is the will of the gods, child,’ he replied gently. ‘We cannot question their decisions. I have lived more than eighty summers in these hills. My business here is over. I waited only to speak to you and now that is done I shall rest in peace. Go now, back to your father’s hall.’
‘Will I see you again?’
‘I think not in this life.’ He smiled sadly. ‘My blessings on you, princess, and on all you love. Now go.’
She raised her hand, but he had turned away. Huddled in his cloak, the hood pulled up over his hair, he was part of the shadows, part of the night. In a moment he had gone.
‘Lord Einion?’ Her voice was sharp and frightened. The wind howled around the spot where he had stood and the river hurled itself down between the boulders. She was alone.
I
ABER
The ashes were glowing beneath her feet as she walked in the fire; in front of her, in the distance, she could see mountains, blue beneath the haze. A figure was waiting for her, beckoning. She moved on, slowly, floating just above the ground. He was calling her name and she could see him drawing away from her, holding out his arms, his red-gold hair gleaming in the flickering light. ‘Wait!’ She tried to call, but no sound came from her throat. ‘Wait …’ But he was growing smaller, shimmering behind the heat of the fire. She began to run; she had to reach him, to see his face. The heat hid him, separating them. She had to get through the fire. ‘Eleyne,’ he was calling more loudly now, ‘Eleyne.’
‘Eleyne!’
Prince Llywelyn looked infinitely weary. Humping his fur-trimmed gown higher on his shoulders, he sighed. ‘I cannot allow you to remain here, daughter. I am sorry.’ He stood at the window of the solar, gazing out into the whirling snow. Eleyne sat alone, her eyes on the fire.
‘You must see how difficult it is, with Isabella’s illness. I’m told her megrims will pass and with them these tantrums, but meanwhile –’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘Dafydd will escort you to Chester. I am sure your husband will be pleased to have you back.’
She made no response, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the smouldering logs.
‘You and she will be friends again when she is with child once more,’ he went on uncomfortably. ‘This idea of hers, that it was your fault – no one believes it. It is no more than the raving of a mad woman, but then, women are like this sometimes, they tell me, when they have miscarried …’ His voice trailed away to silence.
Again she gave no sign of having heard him. He moved closer. ‘Eleyne, did you hear me?’ He suppressed the wave of irritation which swept over him. He had come to Aber seeking peace; instead he had found himself surrounded by squabbling women. His daughter-in-law’s petulant voice and her uncontrolled sobbing rang day and night in his hall. Dafydd, in an effort to buy himself some quiet, nagged him constantly
