Читать книгу Child of the Phoenix - Barbara Erskine - Страница 79

The visit to London ended. John took Eleyne once again on the progress around the Huntingdon estates. Away from the city her spirits rose a little. She was happy to be riding again and, in spite of herself, she was becoming increasingly interested in the complexities of running the great earldom. John encouraged her, enjoying the blossoming confidence, the shrewd native intelligence, the occasional wry humour. He also enjoyed talking to her of deeper things: persuading her to tell him the stories of the old gods of the Welsh hills and in return showing her the gentle meekness of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Often he took her alone with him into the chapels and churches on his estates, to listen to the singing of the liturgy or to see the beauty of the gold and silver, the alabaster, the glass; above all, to feel the peace to be found at the feet of the Mother of God. Eleyne had more or less forgotten Einion and now she found that she could put Rhonwen too at the back of her mind. Her nurse was safe and happy at Aber, and her husband must now become the centre of her life. She would see Rhonwen soon, of that she was certain.

She fought the dreams consciously, never gazing into the fire, never allowing the veil which separated past, present and future to slip. As time passed it seemed to grow easier. She recognised the sensations which sometimes threatened her: the sharpening of perception, the intensity of feeling, the strange blankness which announced the closeness of another world. When that happened, she would clutch at the beautiful carved beads and crucifix John had given her and which now always hung at her waist. The more fixed she became in the present, the more she found herself becoming fond of John. At twenty-eight he was a good-looking man – serious, conscientious, gentle with his young wife.

He never mentioned the time when they would be more than friends. Her courses had started at last, a full eighteen months after Luned had blossomed as a woman. When it happened, she had held her breath and waited, sure that John would know, sure he would now insist she come to his bed. But he gave no sign of knowing that her thin, skinny body had become a woman’s body. He treated her as he always had and never did anything to frighten her. As the months passed and she came more and more to rely on him and trust him, husband and wife grew more and more pleased with each other.

In March 1232 King Henry visited them at Fotheringhay and she helped to supervise the preparations for the vast number of men and women in his train. It was the first time she had really felt her role as countess and lady of the castle; the visit was a resounding success. It was all the more surprise therefore when, as the heat returned to the low-lying countryside, she fell ill again. When a summons came for John to attend Henry at Westminster, John was at his wits’ end how to help her. He did not dare to suggest that she return with him to the Strand.

Eleyne’s sister Margaret came to their rescue. ‘Send her to me,’ she said in her letter. ‘As I suggested before, the air of the Downs will help her regain her strength.’

John showed her the letter and smiled at the sudden animation in her eyes when she looked up at him. ‘Can I go?’

‘Of course you can go. Spend the summer with your sister, and then we will come back to Fotheringhay together in the autumn.’ He did not add out loud the thought which came into his head: And then, Eleyne mine, you must learn to be a real wife.