"What is it?" the king asked his wife weakly.

"Do you remember last year when Edward de Beaulieu returned home from Acre? His wife was alleged to have died, and he requested that she be declared dead so he might remarry?"

The king nodded.

"Well, she isn't dead. The prince of the Welsh's daughter appeared home this spring to find her husband no longer her husband, and his new wife full with a child, ap Gruffydd is outraged that his daughter has been so insulted. The prince requests justice for his child, but says she will not have de Beaulieu back now, for she would not put the stain of bastardy upon his newborn son. Now isn't this a nice kettle of fish, Henry? Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn will come to Westminster at Lammastide for your justice. What are we to do?"

"What does ap Gruffydd want?" the king asked cannily.

"His daughter's dower back from de Beaulieu. A new husband for the girl. And a penalty levied upon de Beaulieu for the affront. The Welsh prince suggests that some of Haven Castle's lands be given to his daughter to recompense her for the insult," the queen replied.

"It seems fair," the king said slowly.

"There is more to this than meets the eye, Henry," the queen told him astutely. "For one thing, what happened to the lady Rhonwyn that she became separated from her husband and our son's forces? We must send to Haven. Edward de Beaulieu should be allowed to speak for himself in this matter. Even if he believed his wife dead, he did remarry again in a rather hasty manner."

"Agreed," the king said.

"According to the Welsh prince, his daughter was declared dead. That oversight can be rectified immediately, but the rest will have to wait until we can hear a fuller story from both sides in this dispute."

Again the king nodded his agreement. His wife took a cool cloth and wiped his forehead, which was beaded with perspiration. Henry grew weaker each day, and every small task he must perform was difficult for him now. She had recently heard from their son Edward. He had only narrowly escaped an assassination attempt in Acre, and he was discouraged. The crusade had literally fallen into disarray. Mounting an expedition to retake Jerusalem was proving impossible. He was, Edward wrote, planning to return home with his wife shortly, after Eleanor recovered from the rigors of her recent childbirth. The baby, a little girl who had already been baptized Joan, was strong and healthy, unlike the infant who had been born and died the year before. They would come via Sicily and Provence, visiting relatives along the way. The queen was relieved, for while she knew she could hold England for her son, once Henry died her life would have little meaning. She was of a mind to retire to the Benedictine convent in Amesbury for the remainder of her life.

"I will send off messages to both Edward de Beaulieu at Haven Castle and to the lady Rhonwyn, who is with her aunt, the abbess of Mercy Abbey, in Wales," the queen told her husband, and again he nodded his assent.

Edward de Beaulieu was outraged to receive the royal summons to Westminster. "How dare the vixen complain to the king!" he said angrily.

"What did you expect?" his brother-in-law Rafe said. "While I am delighted that Katherine is your wife and the mother of your heir, you did marry her in some haste, cousin."

"I do not recall hearing you complain about my haste at the time," Edward replied dryly. "You could hardly wait for your sister to become the lady of Haven Castle."

"Our families have always hoped for the union," Rafe responded. "I was pleased that it was to be a reality at long last. You did not say how the lady Rhonwyn died, Edward. I did not press the issue because I believed her loss pained you or that possibly you had killed her yourself for her high spiritedness. Only the fact that the lady is generous has prevented my sister from being burdened with a terrible shame. What if Lady Rhonwyn demanded from the church that your marriage to Kate be declared null and void under the circumstances? Your son would then have been declared a bastard. A vindictive woman would have taken great delight in revenging herself on you for what you did."

"She cannot appeal to the church under the circumstances of her adventures," Edward said in assured tones. "Do you think the church would restore her to my side when she so merrily whored for another man? An infidel? When I expose her perfidy, she will be lucky they do not burn her at the stake for her adultery."

Rafe de Beaulieu looked closely at his cousin. "Do you love her then so much that you would destroy her, cousin?"

"I do not love her," Edward said honestly.

"Do you love my sister?" Rafe probed.

"Aye, I do. Kate is the perfect wife for me. I want no other," he said. "She is sweet natured and obedient to my will, as well as a good breeder. Look at our wee Neddie. What a fine lad he is."

"If you are happy with Kate," her brother replied, "then why does your anger burn so hot toward the lady Rhonwyn?"

"Because she betrayed me!" he said coldly. "Because she would destroy the happiness I now have."

"She believes you betrayed her," Rafe countered. " Tis an interesting conundrum, Edward. I will go with you to Westminster in order that you do not cost my sister and her child too much by your ire."

" I will tell the king the truth," de Beaulieu said stonily.


***

“You must tell the king the entire truth," the abbess counseled her niece. "It will not be easy, but it will save you from Edward's outrage. In the end it will all boil down to the fact that while you struggled to overcome great odds and return home to your husband, your husband hurried home and contracted another marriage."

"You cannot believe that my judges will overlook the fact I spent over a year in the harem of the caliph of Cinnebar," Rhonwyn replied in practical tones.

"Nay, they will not. They will declare great shock and indignation that a good Christian noblewoman, a prince's daughter, could have found herself in such a position and not ended it all in the name of our dear Lord Jesus," the abbess said dryly. "But you did not have to return home, yet you did. That will be what confounds them, my child, and that will be what gains you redress from Edward de Beaulieu. I will be by your side, speaking in your defense if necessary, Rhonwyn. Unless the archbishop of Canterbury himself speaks for de Beaulieu, and as there is no profit in it, Boniface will not, we will win."

"You are so damned worldly for an abbess," Rhonwyn noted, and then she laughed. "Aunt, 1 should rather have you on my side than all of God's good angels!"

"The angels are in heaven, my child," the abbess answered her. "I am here."

They departed for Westminster on a warm and hazy summer's day. The prince of the Welsh had sent a fully mounted and armed troop to escort his sister and his daughter into England. Oth and Dewi were by Rhonwyn's side, as was Glynn ap Llywelyn, who would testify to his part in the affair. The trip had been carefully planned, and each night they sheltered at either a convent or a monastery. Their progress was slow but steady, and on the thirty-first of July they arrived in London, where the two women were welcomed at the convent of St. Mary's-in-the-Fields, near the palace of Westminster. The men were invited to make their encampment in a meadow outside the convent walls.

Rhonwyn and her aunt had, in the weeks they were together at Mercy Abbey, worked to sew a gown worthy of a prince's daughter. The gown, or cotte, fell gracefully to the floor. It had long tight sleeves. It was made of fine silk and was a spring green in color. Her over-robe, which was sleeveless, was fashioned from cloth-of-gold on darker green silk brocade. The gilt girdle, which sat just below Rhonwyn's narrow waist, was made of small rounds, decorated with a swirl of Celtic design.

Rhonwyn's hair had been parted in the center, two delicate plaits braided with cloth-of-gold ribbons and strands of tiny pearls and falling on either side of her face, with the main mass of her hair flowing behind her, amid strands of pearls. Atop her head a delicate filigreed circle held her sheer cloth-of-gold gauze veil. Her only jewelry was a brooch of emeralds set in Irish red gold. Her shoes did not show, but they followed the shape of her foot and were of gilded leather.

"You are magnificent," her aunt said quietly as she looked over their handiwork. "You are every inch the prince of the Welsh's daughter, my child."

"I have never had anything quite this fine," Rhonwyn admitted.

"You are regal, but have not the look of a worldly woman," said the abbess. "That is the effect we have been striving for, Rhonwyn. Some ladies of the court paint their faces and dye their hair. You are fresh looking. Even though you will admit to your indiscretions, your appearance is one of innocence. The church will condemn you, but they will find it impossible to believe you willingly betrayed your husband." Gwynllian smiled, well pleased. "You must remember not to lose your temper with de Beaulieu. Let him rant and rave. You will weep, and that will cause the hardest heart to soften toward you."

"Is that not dishonest, aunt?" Rhonwyn said mischievously.

"This, child, is war. The object of a battle is to win it," the abbess advised with a twinkle in her brown eyes. "That is what your father would do. Will you allow yourself to be beaten by these English? Do not let it ever be said that ap Gruffydd's daughter was not as brave as he."

"I should far rather challenge Edward to trial by combat," Rhonwyn answered. "There I could absolutely beat him."