A hush descended upon the hall as the three musicians entered and bowed low to the caliph. They were swathed in the white robes and burnooses of the land. The tallest of them stepped forward as the other two sat upon the floor, their instruments at the ready.

"My lord caliph, I shall first begin with a song native to my own land and sung in my own tongue," he said.

Rhonwyn started. That voice!

The musicians began, and the tune was familiar to her.

"My sister, if you are among these women, you must contrive to sing back to me now so I may know it," sang Glynn ap Llywelyn. "I have sought long for you. Sing to me, my sweet sister."

"You must not start at the sound of my voice, brother, but I am indeed here," Rhonwyn's voice rang out. Then she turned to look up to the caliph. "They sing a song native to my homeland in my own Welsh tongue. The singer invites all who understand him to join in, my lord. Please allow me to do so or at least explain if I may not."

"Sing, my beautiful golden bird," the caliph said generously. "I was not aware of what a lovely voice you had. You will sing for me alone in the future, Noor."

"Thank you, my lord," Rhonwyn replied. Then turning back to the musicians, she sang, "He says I may sing with you, for he does not know who you are, brother. Your song must be short else suspicions be aroused."

"I have come to take you home, sister," Glynn sang. "My musicians are Oth and Dewi. Tell us, how we may accomplish the impossible?"

"Remain in Cinnebar, brother. Use whatever excuse you must, but remain. I will find a way to contact you. It will not be easy, but I will succeed in time. Be patient and do not leave me now that you have found me. Tis best we end our song now, sweet brother. How I long to embrace you once again," Rhonwyn's voice soared sweetly.

"I shall do as you say, dearest sister. I shall not leave you. I shall not leave you. I shall not leave you," Glynn finished the song. Then he bowed to the caliph.

"Tell me the tale of your song, my minstrel friend," the caliph said.

"It is a story about a widowed mother whose only son goes off to war. She fears for him in the ensuing months as she hears nought of him. Finally, when she has just about given up hope, her son returns, my lord. He promises never to leave her again. It is a simple tale, you understand. Now, however, I shall sing to you a song that is currently quite popular in Damascus. But would you first tell me who the lady was who sang with me?" He bowed again.

"My second wife," the caliph answered. "She is a student of languages."

Rhonwyn could scarcely conceal her excitement, but she did. Glynn! Her little brother. How had he come to this place? It was a miracle, and now she needed another miracle.

For the next few days she considered her course of action, but finally had to admit to herself that only the chief eunuch, Baba Haroun, could help her. But would he? The tall black man held the power of life and death within the harem walls. Even Rashid al Ahmet did not have such total control as did his chief eunuch. Rhonwyn sent her serving woman Sadirah to request an audience with Baba Haroun. Sadirah returned, saying the eunuch would expect the lady Noor in his chambers within the hour.

"Why do you wish to speak to him?" Nilak probed none too subtly.

"The caliph wishes me to have his child, as you know, but I have been reluctant, as I would have no child of mine in competition with Prince Mohammed. I love his mother too well. Still, even the lady Alia wants me to become a mother. The three of us spoke on this several days ago. I promised Baba Haroun that I should talk with him on it further. After all, does he not have the best interests of the caliph at heart?"

"If you had a son, there is no guarantee that Prince Mohammed would be the next caliph of Cinnebar," Nilak said craftily.

"That is just the kind of thing I fear," Rhonwyn scolded the older woman. "Prince Mohammed is his father's heir. He must remain so for the safety and best interests of Cinnebar, Nilak. Now, I must go and see Baba Haroun." She hurried from her apartments.

The chief eunuch sat awaiting her, drawing upon his water pipe. He was alone. "Sit, Noor." He gestured to a pile of colorful cushions across the tiled table. "How may I be of service to you? It must be something very serious, for you have never before sought me out." His fine dark eyes viewed her curiously.

"Though I should never say this aloud to anyone else, Baba Haroun, I believe you always put your mistress's best interests above all-" She paused a moment, then continued."- even the caliph."

He nodded silently, a small smile upon his lips. "Go on," he said, so low she could scarcely hear him.

"I do not want to give the caliph a child. 1 do not believe you want me to, yet how long may we continue to deceive my lord Rashid or the lady Alia? And if I am forced to have a child and it is a son, why, even my serving woman Nilak suggests that such a child could supplant Prince Mohammed in both his father's heart and the succession. It would seem I am about to become a great difficulty. But what if I could solve this conundrum before it becomes a problem?"

"How?" he asked her, rather intrigued by her astute grasp of the situation.

"If I were no longer here, the matter of another son would no longer be an issue, would it?" Rhonwyn said softly.

"You are suggesting that I allow you to escape from Cinnebar," the chief eunuch said. It was not a question.

"Yes," she replied quietly.

"And just how could such a thing be accomplished without the caliph's knowledge or my destruction, Noor?" Baba Haroun asked wryly.

"First you must swear to me that you will not kill him," Rhonwyn said. "If 1 thought 1 was responsible for his death, I could not live myself."

"Who?" the chief eunuch demanded, suddenly very interested.

"My younger brother," Rhonwyn told him.

"But how…" Baba Haroun began.

"First your promise. You are a man of your word, I know, Baba Haroun. (!ive me your promise, and I will explain," Rhonwyn told him.

The chief eunuch considered a long moment, then he said, "You have my promise, Noor. I shall not kill your brother. Now please explain to me what it is you are talking about."

"The young minstrel who entertained in the great hall of the palace several evenings ago is my brother, Glynn ap Llywelyn. He has been seeking me. He began his entertainment by singing in our native tongue and asking if his sister were here. I answered, as you know. It was not a song he sang, but rather we communicated briefly using our native tongue and the music. He remains in Cinnebar awaiting my instructions."

"Astounding!" Baba Haroun said, amazed. He had never in all his years heard of such a coincidence.

"If Rashid is allowed to dwell too long on this child he desires of me," Rhonwyn said softly, "his heart will be broken doubly. That must not happen, Baba Haroun. The caliph is a good man. I do not want to harm him, but I do not love him as Alia does, and I want to go home. Surely my brother's finding me is a portent. He did not come on crusade with us. I left him at the abbey school in Shrewsbury, in England, near our home. He was but a child. Now suddenly he is a man. He has sought me out and found me. Is this not fate speaking?"

The chief eunuch nodded thoughtfully. He was a man who believed in signs and marvels. "How would you proceed, Noor, if I were to agree to help you?" he asked.

"The caliph will not simply release me," Rhonwyn said, and her companion nodded again in agreement. "I must therefore appear to have died. He will mourn me, I know, but eventually he will forget me."

"Not easily," Baba Haroun admitted. "I know him well, and he does not give his heart lightly, but I believe I have a way to distract him from your loss. Prince Mohammed's two harem damsels are kept sterile, but that can be changed. If one of them should conceive and the caliph were to be able to look forward to being a grandfather, then he should have something to rejoice in rather than dwell upon his mourning. It could even be said Allah was replacing his love for you with another love. Now, because I can see you have been thinking on it, how will you die?"

"I shall accidentally fall from a cliff at the edge of my garden in the night," Rhonwyn said. "If bones and hanks of my hair were found there, it would be assumed I fell and that the wild dogs had devoured me. The hair will assure that the caliph believes in my death, for you know how he loves my hair and its unusual color."

"In reality, however, I shall smuggle you from the palace," Baba Haroun said, taking up the thread of her thought. "That I can do, Noor, and easily. It must all be done in a single night. And you, my clever beauty, will be disguised as a boy. Your party will join a caravan headed for the coast, and in just a few days you will be able to seek out a vessel bound for your native land."

"Then you will help me!" Rhonwyn said excitedly.

"I will help you," Baba Haroun replied, "but I do so only to safeguard the happiness of my beloved mistress. She does the noble thing in saying the caliph must have his way in order to be happy. She has been raised to think of her lord first. But you, Noor, were raised to think of yourself first. I contemplated the possibility of seeing you contract some disease, sicken, and die before you might give the caliph a child. If my mistress cannot or will not protect herself and her son, then I must. It is my duty. However, I hold no malice against you. You have been respectful and loving of my lady Alia. I will, therefore, aid you, Noor."