A Memory of Love

by Bertrice Small

  " 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."

  "I am certain of it," the abbess responded, "but it would certainly shock the king and give credence to de Beaulieu's charges. Come, it is time for us to go now. Mother Superior Margaret Joseph and a half a dozen of her sisters will escort us to the palace. It is but a short walk."

  "I am to be surrounded by a bevy of nuns?" Rhonwyn laughed. "Oh, aunt, you are shameless."

  The abbess chuckled, but did not reply.

  The king's hall in Westminster Palace was very beautiful. The floor was set with wide square tiles. The walls were painted in red, blue, and gold. The windows soared high, allowing in the light. Henry III had made the effort to personally appear at the hearing. He was a shell of the man he once was, but his white hair and beard were neat. His blue eyes looked interested, though he slumped pale upon his throne, his queen at his side. On his right, silling on a row of benches, were the clergy. The de Beaulieus and Rhonwyn's party sat on the left, carefully separated by several men-at-arms. The hearing, set for the hour immediately following the office of Tierce, began most promptly.

  "Tell us your side of this dispute, Edward de Beaulieu, lord of Haven Castle," the king said in a stronger voice than his appearance would have represented.

  "The woman given to me as a wife, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, was never a true wife to me," Edward began.

  The abbess squeezed her niece's hand hard.

  "She denied me my husbandly rights except on rare occasions. She preferred the company of soldiers and playing with arms to being a good chatelaine. At her insistence I allowed her to accompany me on crusade. At Carthage, where we were encamped, many, including myself, grew ill with fever and dysentery. It was during my illness that my wife raced off into battle, deserting me. Of course she was taken prisoner. I sought for her for some days, but found no trace at all of either her or my knight who had followed after her in a brave attempt at rescue. I finally traveled to Acre, but the illness that had lain me low in Carthage returned, never having really been cured. Prince Edward sent me home.

  "I am not a young man, sire. I had no legitimate heirs of my body. When you chose me to husband the prince of the Welsh's daughter, I had no previous commitments, although my family had always hoped I would wed my cousin Katherine. Now believing myself widowed, 1 wed her. Within ten months of our marriage, Katherine, who is dutiful, gave me a son. Just before he was born, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn appeared at Haven as if nothing was amiss. She claimed to have been imprisoned within a harem and boasted of how another man had unleashed her passions as I never had. When she saw how it was, she threatened me and left Haven. I am outraged that she should demand redress from me. For what? ‘Tis she who should make amends to me for her desertion and her bold adultery." Edward de Beaulieu bowed to the royal couple and then the clergy before sitting back down again.

  There was a silence, and then the king said, "Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, come forward and tell us your side of this controversy."

  Rhonwyn arose slowly and stood before the king. She bowed, then turned to the clergy and bowed again. Thereupon she spoke in a voice so soft they all had to lean forward to hear. "Sire, my lords, I come before you today to beg for justice in this unfortunate matter. Edward de Beaulieu claims I was a bad wife to him, and in part, that is true. When my mother died my father took me and my brother, Glynn, to a fortress in the Welshry where we were raised. There were no women there to guide me. When my father returned ten years later to announce I was to be wed, he was horrified, though why it was a surprise to him I do not know, to discover his daughter was more a lad than a lass."

  The king and the clergymen chuckled at her astute observation.

  Rhonwyn continued. "I was then taken to my aunt's abbey, where for the next six months I learned all I could about being a female. My aunt, of course, had me baptized immediately, and I was enlightened in our faith. When I finally arrived at Haven Castle to be married, I w
as enough of a lass to be presentable, but I still had much to learn, and I endeavored to do so. I see that the castle priest, Father John, is here at this assembly. Good Father, did I become an acceptable chatelaine for Haven?"

  "You did, lady," the priest answered honestly.

  Rhonwyn sighed deeply. "My lords, where I failed my husband was in the bedchamber. On our wedding night he cruelly forced me to his will, claiming that you, sire, had said he must. I did not believe such a thing then, and I certainly do not now. It was his lust that drove him to rape. After that I was always afraid of his advances. 1 knew 1 should not have been, but I was. There was no lady of my own station with whom I might speak in order to calm my fears. Then Prince Edward came to Haven with his talk of a crusade. I was enthusiastic! His princess wife was going. I saw no reason why I could not go. Perhaps if I fought for our good Lord, he would help me to overcome my fears.

  "In Carthage, I nursed my husband devotedly during his illness. He is wrong to say I neglected him. It is not true! It was he, himself, who invited me to go off with his knight Sir Fulk to practice with my sword on that terrible day. He even insisted I garb myself in protective gear, and helped me to dress. Then the daily skirmish with the infidels began while we practiced. Foolishly- oh, how I regret it!-I ran off to join the fray. Sir Fulk came after me. My lords! The battle was grand! We won it in our Lord Christ's name! I, however, foolishly allowed myself to be cut off. I am not, after all, really a soldier, just a woman. While I may have a talent for the sword, I would, it seems, have none for tactics."

  Rafe de Beaulieu, seated by his cousin's side, almost laughed aloud. She had more flare for tactics than any of them realized. All present sat spellbound by Rhonwyn's tale. The Celtic witch had them in the palm of her hand, and it was surely going to cost his cousin.

  "Sir Fulk," Rhonwyn continued, "God assoil his loyal soul-" She crossed herself. "-rode after me. He kept my captors from discovering that I was a female until we reached Cinnebar. In the battle I had killed the caliph of that place's brother. They brought me before this ruler for punishment. When he discovered I was a woman he had me placed within his harem. Fair women are much prized among the Arabs. Sir Fulk was executed in my place." She crossed herself again.

  "The caliph, his name is Rashid al Ahmet, took me as his second wife. He taught me not to fear passion, and he loved me, my lords, but all the while he held me in captivity I desired only one thing. To return to my husband, Edward de Beaulieu. I hoped, and I prayed, and finally God answered my prayers. My little brother, Glynn, came to Cinnebar, seeking me. His fame as a poet and a minstrel attracted the attention of the caliph's head eunuch, a man called Baba Haroun.

  "My brother was invited to the palace to entertain. The first song he sang was in the Welsh tongue, inquiring if I were in this place. He had sung this tune many times over the months as he sought me out. This night, however, his search was ended." She sighed deeply.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she swallowed them back bravely, then continued. "At that point in time, my lords, the caliph decided he wanted a child of my body. Harem women are kept sterile by means of herbs unless children are desired of them. Baba Haroun believed that any child of mine could compromise the position of the first wife's son, Prince Mohammed. He said so quite bluntly. It was then I took the chance that he might help me to escape. He did, my lords. We feigned my death, and with Baba Haroun's aid I left Cinnebar.

  "Over the next few months my brother and our two faithful men-at-arms, Oth and Dewi, traveled back to England. It was a difficult journey, as you well may imagine. When I arrived at Haven, Father John told me that my husband had had me declared dead and remarried. Then the lady Katherine appeared. I saw how far gone she was with child. It was then I realized, my lords, that I had lost Edward de Beaulieu." A line of tears ran down her pale cheeks.

  "My brother had told him in Acre that he was certain I lived, but Edward, alas, had no faith. He abandoned me, and now I beg you, sire, to give me justice. I seek the return of my dower and a forfeit from this man for the stain he has placed upon my father, upon me, and upon our family." She bowed her head.

  "My lady," the archbishop of Canterbury said, "why is it you did not escape your shameful captivity in death?"

  "My lord, 1 was taught it was wrong to take one's life, but even if I had been of a mind to do so, there was no way in which I might accomplish it. The women of the harem are watched constantly by a band of eunuchs. We are never alone. Our food is cut for us. We were required to eat with our fingers as no implements were allowed. Our garments are few, and there are no sashes or other loose girdles.''

  The bishop of Winchester spoke. "Did you tell your husband, my lady, that this caliph person had taught you passion?"

  "I did, my lord," Rhonwyn answered. "Edward had been so unhappy with my coldness that I wanted him to know I had been freed of my irrational fears. That I could love him at last and was eager to give him children. I was too late. Another had taken my place. I accept that. It is my punishment for not being the proper kind of wife. I have always liked the lady Katherine, and I wish her no harm. I am glad that Edward has a son and an heir. But, my lords, what is to happen to me now? I fought with all my might to come home. I might have remained where I was in Cinnebar, beloved of another man. A powerful man, and a great ruler. In my heart, however, was a memory of the love I had for Edward de Beaulieu. I had to come back to England.

  "I expected his anger, my lords, and I expected his scorn, to be sure. I did not expect that he should have held me in so little esteem that he had replaced me within a year of my alleged demise. I had hoped that I should be able to win back his love and his trust. I obviously never had it, and that, my lords, is my mistake. But again I ask you for justice. I was a faithful wife, if not with my body, in my heart and my soul. Edward de Beaulieu was not a faithful husband."

  Her testimony concluded, Rhonwyn bowed once more to her judges and stepped back. Glynn ap Llywelyn was then called before the court. He described how he had learned of his sister's disappearance and his shock to discover Edward had written a letter to Rafe de Beaulieu less than two months after Rhonwyn had gone missing. How he had left his studies and traveled with as much haste as possible to Acre to plead with his brother-in-law to wait before remarrying. How Edward had summarily dismissed him…

  "Following the example of King Richard's minstrel, Blondell, my lords, I traveled the region singing my songs until, as my sister has told you, I found her." He bowed to them and then stepped back to his place by Rhonwyn's side.

  "The lady Rhonwyn, her party and the de Beaulieus will leave the chamber," the king said. "We must discuss this matter in private."

  Accompanied by her brother and the nuns, Rhonwyn glided from the hall. Behind her she could hear the de Beaulieus stamping along. The king's steward came and led them to a small waiting chamber where wine and biscuits had been set out. The men quaffed the wine thirstily. Rhonwyn sat silently, a rosary in her hands.

  "How meek and forlorn you appear," Rafe de Beaulieu said softly as he came to stand by her side.

  She ignored him.

  He chuckled. "You say you are no tactician, lady, but I think you would be a dangerous foe in battle. Despite your own behavior your splendid performance will cost poor Edward dearly, I am quite certain."

  Unable to help herself, Rhonwyn looked up. "You are despicable."

  "Lady, 'tis a compliment I offer you, not a rebuke," he replied. "I admire a clever woman, and you are very clever, although perhaps not very wise. You should have remained in Cinnebar. Did you not realize that it would be impossible for Edward to take you back even if he had had no new wife by his side?"

  "If he had loved me, nothing would have been impossible!" Rhonwyn burst out angrily. She still found it difficult to accept the haste with which Edward had acted.

  "Love? Love is for children, lady. Marriages should be made for more practical reasons. Your marriage to Edward was part of a treaty between Wales and England. How could
you have believed there was any love involved in it?"

  "Perhaps because I am not very wise,'' Rhonwyn replied mockingly. "You are wrong, Rafe de Beaulieu. Love can exist between a married couple. I thought it had begun to bloom with Edward. He had, after all, said he loved me. Was I to think he lied?"

  "A man will say many things when he is between a woman's legs" was the harsh response.

  Rhonwyn's head snapped up, and she glared at him. "You really are despicable. Go away! Why do you find it necessary to torment me?"

  He smiled down at her, and she was startled by the sudden realization that he was very handsome. The silver blue eyes mocked her. "I don't want to torment you, Rhonwyn," he said in a voice so low that only she could have heard him. “ I want to make love to you."

  She grew pale. She could have sworn that her heart had stopped beating in her chest. She could not speak for a long moment. Finally she said, "If you ever approach me again, I will find a way to kill you, I promise." Then she lowered her head again and began counting her rosary beads.

  "You are very bold," the abbess said to Rafe, and she laughed when he flushed. "Aye, I heard you, sir. My hearing is acute. It has to be if I am to keep strict order within my abbey's walls."

  "She will be like you when she is old," he said.

  "Probably," the abbess answered dryly. "Now go back with your cousin, Rafe de Beaulieu, and leave my niece be."

  They waited. Finally the door to the room opened, and the royal chamberlain stood, beckoning them. Returning to the hall, they saw that the king was gone. The queen and the clergy remained.

  "The king," Queen Eleanor said, "was exhausted by this morning's events. He has left me to render his judgment. You acted in haste, Edward de Beaulieu, when you remarried without truly knowing if your first wife was dead. However, by having her declared officially dead, your marriage to Lady Katherine is declared legal by the church, and your son, legitimate. It is not believed that you acted with any malice, but rather from the honest conviction that Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn was really dead. When you learned she was not, though, you acted with total disregard for her honor and her family's honor. For this you shall pay a forfeit, and you shall return her dower portion to her. Is that understood, my lord?"