"Then they are ignorant of the harem," Rhonwyn replied spiritedly. "I had not even a knife to cut my food. I was constantly watched. There was absolutely no way I might have ended my life even if I had wanted to do so. But all I wanted was to escape and return to my husband, not knowing that he had already betrayed me!"

"That attitude will assuredly gain you a certain amount of sympathy," the abbess noted, "but it will not completely exonerate you."

"I was faithful in my heart to Edward de Beaulieu. He was not so faithful to me," Rhonwyn replied stonily.

Her aunt smiled. "Stoke the fires of your outrage, my child, and we shall gain some justice for you. Are you sure you wish to pursue this path?"

"I must, else my honor and the honor of our family be compromised," she said, "ap Gruffydd is a proud man, and this reflects upon him badly unless we can obtain some compensation for the slight upon our escutcheon, aunt."

"I am forced to agree with you, my child," the abbess said. She turned to Glynn. "Have you nothing to say in this matter, ap Gruf-fydd's son? By the rood, how much you look like your father in his youth!"

"At first," Glynn said, "I thought to slay de Beaulieu, but my sister dissuaded me. She does not wish me to have a stain such as that upon my conscience, especially as I intend to return to the abbey at Shrewsbury and eventually take holy orders."

"So you would become a monk, Glynn ap Llywelyn?" the abbess said quietly. How interesting that her brother's son leaned toward the church and not toward a kingdom of his own.

"I have seen the world, aunt, and while I find it interesting, I am not meant for such a life. Soon my music and my poetry shall be in praise of God alone. The peace of the contemplative life is what I seek. I prefer its discipline and order to the hurly-burly of the world at large."

"Does your lather know of your decision, nephew?" Her fine brown eyes scanned his face.

"He will, although I know he considered this would be my path long ago when he came to fetch Rhonwyn. Tomorrow I will send Oth and Dewi to find him so he may be made aware of what has happened to my poor sister."

Rhonwyn hit him a blow upon the arm that staggered Glynn.

"Ouch!" he yelped.

"I am not to be pitied, brat!" she snapped at him. "It is my honor that has been besmirched. But make no mistake, Glynn, I need no man to make my life complete. I never did and I certainly don't need your pity!"

"There are but two paths for a respectable woman," Glynn said. "Either she enters into marriage or she enters a convent."

"I am no longer respectable, it would seem," Rhonwyn mocked him, laughing. "Therefore I may do what I please and plot my own course through life, brother. I am considering becoming a merchant and using the gold Baba Haroun so generously sewed into my cloak to set up a shop in Shrewsbury. I shall import silks and spices from the east and grow richer with each passing year. I shall take young men for lovers, and when I send them away because they have begun to bore me, they shall go grieving but wiser for their time with me."

The abbess burst out laughing, although her nephew looked shocked. "Thank God and His blessed Mother, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, that you have not been broken by this experience," she said.

"My heart is broken, aunt, but only a little, and it will heal, I suspect. I returned because I believed in my heart that Edward loved me and would forgive my small sins. I wanted to share all that the caliph taught me about passion and make up to my husband for the early months of our marriage when passion frightened me so greatly I could scarcely bear for him to touch me. The loss is his, I fear, and he will never know the woman I truly am," Rhonwyn said softly. "I am very sorry for that."

The abbess nodded. "It would appear, my child, that you have more honor than Edward de Beaulieu. For that you may be proud."

ap Gruffydd appeared at Mercy Abbey five days later, prepared to berate his daughter for leaving her marriage. When, however, he heard the truth, he erupted into a fit of rage. Rhonwyn, to her own surprise, calmed him at long last.

"I am no longer unhappy over this, but our family's honor must be assuaged, my lord," she told him.

"Are we back to my lord then?" he demanded.

"Tad," she said with a small smile, mollifying him.

"I'll have another husband for you from King Henry else our treaty be broken for good and all," ap Gruffydd said.

"And have you kept so assiduously to that treaty, Tad?" she gently taunted him.

He laughed aloud. "I've had little part in your life, Rhonwyn, and yet you know me better than some of my closest associates. Why is that, I wonder?"

"Because I am like you, Tad. I am proud and have always followed my own path, and devil take the hindmost. It seems to have gotten me into almost as much trouble as it has gotten you." She smiled sweetly at him. "I think, however, that I may have learned my lesson."

Both Llywelyn ap Gruffydd and his sister, Gwynllian, burst into laughter. Rhonwyn's assessment of the situation was absolutely correct.

Finally the prince said, "There is much of your aunt in you, too, lass."

"Praise God and His blessed Mother!" the abbess responded fervently, and she crossed herself.

The prince grew serious once again. "King Henry has not been well these past few years. He will certainly be at his palace of Westminster in London. I will send him a letter, Rhonwyn, explaining that you are alive and returned home to discover yourself declared dead and your husband with a new wife. I will tell the English king that you do not desire to have Edward de Beaulieu back, as his new wife is with child. Besides, the betrayal and insult to you and your family make such a reunion impossible. I will ask for justice for my daughter, and tell him that you will come to Westminster by Lammastide to seek redress from the de Beaulieus. There is no viciousness in Henry Plantagenet, but beware his queen, Eleanor of Provence, who is called behind her back the noble termagant. She is and always has been ambitious for her family, and she will destroy without hesitation anyone that she believes a threat to them.

"Your dower portion, of course, must be returned to you. I cannot be expected to redower you for a new husband."

"I don't want a husband," Rhonwyn said.

"Nonetheless you must have one," her father said firmly. "We will not argue this point now, lass." He looked hard at her. "How is it possible that you have become more beautiful despite your adventures?"

Rhonwyn laughed. "You will not turn the subject that easily, Tad. I want no husband."

"Then it is the convent, daughter. How old are you now?"

"Nineteen, this April first past," she reminded him.

"We'll be lucky to find you a husband at your age. A widow with children is at least a proven breeder," the prince noted. "Do you want to enter your aunt's house, lass?"

"Nay," Rhonwyn said.

"Then another marriage is your only path," ap Gruffydd said.

Rhonwyn did not argue with him any further. She was a realist. The church would not accept her, for she would be considered a woman of ill repute-a disobedient wife who had run off to interfere in men's business and had been punished for it. And what man of good family would have for his wife such a woman? A woman who had given her body to an infidel? She wanted her dower back, and perhaps a bit of Haven's land for herself. That she would consider recompense for Edward de Beaulieu's behavior. Why argue with her father over something that would never be? There would be no more husbands for Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn.

Chapter 14

Eleanor of Provence, queen of England, had lived five and a half decades. She was still a beautiful woman, with silver-streaked auburn hair and amber eyes that missed little. In her youth she, and her equally comely sisters, had been considered the most beautilul women in Europe. Her eldest sister, Margaret, had married King Louis IX of France. Her younger sister, Sanchia, was married to her brother-in-law, Richard of Cornwall, king of the Romans. Her youngest sister, Beatrice, was the wife of Charles of Anjou, the king of Naples and Sicily. Eleanor's mother, Beatrice of Savoy, and her father, Raymond Berenger V, count of Provence, had reigned over a brilliant court renowned for its patronage of the troubadours. The count himself was one of the last of the great Provençal poets.

At the age of nineteen Eleanor had traveled to her sister's court in France, and from there across a winter sea to marry King Henry III of England. From the moment the couple laid eyes upon one another, it had been a love match. The queen had borne her husband six sons and three daughters. Two sons and two daughters had reached adulthood. While there were some who resented her Savoyard kinsmen-who, along with the king's French half brothers, had come to England to seek their fortunes-the queen's chief care was for her family. Now her husband was slowly dying. She nursed him devotedly. Their kingdom was prosperous and secure. England was not involved in any wars. Their life was peaceful. And then there came from that rebellious Welsh prince a letter that the queen knew was going to cause difficulties.

She sat with the king in their dayroom. About them her ladies sat tending to various small tasks, their sewing and mending, the repair of a small tapestry. The queen's eyes scanned the letter, and she swore ever so softly beneath her breath. This caught the attention of her husband who lay upon his daybed, resting from the exertions of his morning bowel movement.