"There must be an investigation of these charges," he said sternly. "Evan ap Rhys and I will go to the princess's chamber immediately." Then he and his friend hurried from the hall.

Pwyll finally found his voice. "Bring my wife a basin of scented water that she may cleanse her hands free of blood," he commanded. He was reluctantly obeyed.

Rhiannon stood shivering in the early morning chill of the hall. She was yet weak with her labor of the previous day and terrified as to the fate of her infant son. The very air of the hall was ripe with evil. Looking up, Rhiannon's violet eyes met the triumphant ones of Bronwyn of the White Breast. In that moment in time the princess of the Fair Folk knew that Bronwyn was involved in Anywl's disappearance; but unless she could prove her suspicions, she dared not accuse the jealous girl. For the first time in her entire life Rhiannon felt that most human of all emotions, despair.

Taran and Evan returned to the hall. Taking Pwyll aside, they spoke to him in low, urgent voices, gesturing passionately as they did. They appeared to be showing the prince something. Finally, when they had finished, Pwyll held up his hand for silence and the hall quieted.

"Taran and Evan have thorougly investigated my wife's chamber. Both the cradle that contained my son and the linens upon the bed are free of blood. The only evidence of blood seems to be upon my wife's hands. Beneath the bed the bones and bloodied skin of a deer hound puppy were found. Taran has checked the kennels, and one of the pups born three weeks ago is missing. It would appear that someone has deliberately forged evidence in an effort to harm my wife's reputation." He turned angrily upon the chief lady-in-waiting. " You! I want the truth! What nonsense do you mouth about enchantment? Did you see my wife kill our child? Did any of you?"

The woman fell to the floor at his feet babbling hysterically. "Oh forgive us, my lord! There was no enchantment. To our shame we slept instead of watching as we were bid. When we awoke, the child was gone and the princess bloodied. We feared your wrath, and in our fear we assumed the worst! Forgive us, my lord! Forgive us!"

"Get from my sight, all of you! You are banished from Dyfed from this day onward!" Pwyll shouted angrily and the women fled.

"There is still the small matter of the infant prince's very mysterious disappearance," said Cynbel of Teifi. "Though the waiting women admit to being derelict in their duties, the child is still gone. Who can say for certain that Rhiannon of the Fair Folk is not involved? I, for one, think the child is dead. The evidence that Taran and Evan claim to have found may have been concocted by them to deceive us. Everyone knows that they have been under this creature's spell since her arrival to Dyfed. This woman is not one of us. How can we be certain she speaks the truth? How can we be certain Taran and Evan are not possessed by enchantment? If she is indeed innocent, let her produce the child!"

"Rhiannon, my lady wife," pleaded Pwyll, addressing her for the first time since the ugly incident began, "tell us what has happened to Anwyl, I beg of you!" Suddenly he could not quite look at her; all the warnings given him about marrying a foreigner surfaced in his brain. Had they been right?

"My lord," came the reply, "I know not where our son is, for I was sleeping that I might recover my strength after his birth. I have never lied to you, Pwyll. Why do you now allow me to be accused of such a heinous crime? Why have you not mounted a search for our child? Every moment that passes is a moment lost us. Send criers out through all the lands of Cymri telling of our son's mysterious disappearance that we may find him. Hurry, I beg of you!" Catching his hands in hers, Rhiannon looked into her husband's face and was devastated by what she saw. There was total confusion in Pwyll's look. He did not know whether to believe her or not. Her own heart plummeted.

The prince of Dyfed was caught helplessly between his council and his wife. He loved her, but that love could not override the fact that his son was missing under strange circumstances. The Cymri were a people of regular habits; but, a voice whispered in his head, the Fair Folk are an elusive people whose ways are obscure and secret. Perhaps Rhiannon had not been directly involved in Anwyl's disappearance, but the Fair Folk could be. Perhaps this was but another of King Dylan's conditions of their marriage. One that Rhiannon had feared to tell him. A firstborn son was a valuable commodity.

Then Bronwyn of the White Breast spoke up, and all turned to hear her words. "This is obviously some enchantment of the Fair Folk," she said, amazingly voicing Pwyll's concerns. "It has come upon not just you, my lord, but upon us all, for the baby, Anwyl, was the hope of Dyfed's future. It has come upon Dyfed because you insisted in wedding with this woman of the Fair Folk. A woman not of our own people. She has brought you, brought us all, bad luck.

"For two years we waited for her to produce an heir for Dyfed. Now, the very day after the child's birth, it is dead. This kingdom is without an heir. Who is to say that this horrible thing will not happen over and over again until it is too late for Pwyll to sire a child? What will then become of our fair land?

"The council has advised you well, my lord. They have said you should put this creature of the Fair Folk aside. Divorce her! You must choose a wife from amongst our kind and remarry as soon as possible." Bronwyn turned back to Pwyll and knelt before him. "I know, my dear lord, that there is no hope for me, for you do not love me; but please, I beg of you, choose one of our women for your wife, lest Dyfed wither beneath the curse this woman of the Fair Folk has brought upon us!"

"I will not divorce Rhiannon," Pwyll said, but his voice was uncertain and it trembled slightly.

"Nonetheless, my lord, she must be punished," said Cynbel of Teifi.

"For what?" demanded Taran of the Hundred Battles.

"The child is dead," was the answer.

"The boy is missing," snapped Evan ap Rhys. "There is no logical proof of his demise."

"The child is gone, my lord," Cynbel amended, "but he is as good as dead to us. This woman is obviously responsible. If she were not, she should produce her son that she might save herself. She has not, and therefore condemns herself by her inaction. She must be punished for this terrible crime!"

The other members of Dyfed's council nodded solemnly, in total agreement with Cynbel's words, and the lord of Teifi smiled, pleased. If Rhiannon were punished for the baby's loss, he thought, it would give them all time to convince Pwyll to divorce her and choose another wife. For all his daughter's self-effacing words, Cynbel knew her ambitions to be Pwyll's wife had not abated in the least. Pwyll must have a Cymri wife, and who better than Bronwyn of the White Breast; but it would take time. With Rhiannon in complete disgrace, they would have the time. Cynbel did not know what had happened to Anwyl ap Pwyll, but then he really did not care. It was very unlikely the child would ever be found.

"You must take command of this situation, my lord," he told Pwyll sternly.

Pwyll looked again to Rhiannon. He, who had always been so decisive, suddenly felt confused and afraid. Everything had been so perfect. Why was this happening to them? "Rhiannon, my love, I beg of you to end this bewitchment and to restore our child to us," he said desperately. He knew now that he was powerless to save her, and he had never felt more helpless in his entire life.

"Pwyll, my love," she gently reminded him. "When I left my father's castle to become your wife, I left magic behind. You know that to be the truth. Why have you lost your faith in me, my lord? Did you not promise me when I agreed to be your mate that you would always love and trust me without question? Why do you speak of punishment when I tell you and your council that you should be sending forth to all the kingdoms of the Cymri, and aye, to the Fair Folk as well, the word of this tragedy that has befallen us. Our child has been stolen away, Pwyll, but I am not responsible for his disappearance. Have I ever played you false? It is not within the nature of the Fair Folk to lie. What has made you doubt me? Why will you not defend me against these charges and slanders?)"

Helplessly Pwyll looked from his wife and back to his council. His sea-blue eyes had filled with sudden tears as she pleaded with him. "I cannot put her aside," he half whispered to his council. "Whatever has happened, I love her!"

The council gathered together at one end of the hall, conferring in dark whispers. The courtiers clustered on another side of the hall, murmuring to one another and casting unfriendly looks in Rhiannon's direction. Taran and Evan spoke fiercely and urgently to the prince while Rhiannon stood proud and alone, silent tears slipping down her beautiful face. At last the council came before Pwyll once again.

Cynbel spoke the words of Rhiannon's punishment. "Rhiannon of the Fair Folk, it is my duty to sentence you now for whatever part you may have played in the disappearance of our prince Anwyl. For seven years, beginning on the morrow, you are condemned to sit before this castle, a horse collar about your neck. You must admit your crime to each passerby and carry upon your back into this hall any and all who wish to enter therein. Winter and summer, in weather fair and foul, you will sit before the gates. You will not be excused from this punishment for any reason short of death or an end to its term.

"At night you will be freed of your horse collar and allowed shelter in the farthest corner of this hall away from the warmth of the fire. Your sustenance will be whatever falls from the tables that you can retrieve before the dogs get it. It is forbidden that any speak with you lest your wickedness befoul the innocent, for you are evil incarnate. This punishment is a traditional one amongst our people, and should you survive it, Rhiannon of the Fair Folk, you will be banished from Dyfed afterward to go wherever you would choose; but as your crime will be broadcast amongst the lands of the Cymri, it is unlikely you will ever find shelter or kindness amongst our peoples again. This is as it should be, and is the final decision of the council," Cynbel of Teifi concluded, unable to keep a faintly spiteful tone from his voice.