A Memory of Love

Chapter 7

Glynn returned from Shrewsbury eager to recount his travels and small adventures. Rhonwyn had never known her brother to be so very talkative. "I saw ships that came upriver from Cardiff," he said excitedly. "And the abbey and the churches, sister! And the markets with all their goods and the shops! Never have I seen their like. I ate a pomegranate, Rhonwyn! It's a fruit from the south. There is so much more to the world than I could have believed possible. I want to travel some more when I am older. I shall earn my way singing my ballads in inns and festivals and noble courts."

"First you must finish your education," Rhonwyn told him. "And as much as I dislike mentioning it, our sire may have something to say about what you make of your life, Glynn ap Llywelyn. He may even plan a marriage for you as he did for me."

"Not until I have traveled the world," Glynn said firmly, and for the first time she saw ap Gruffydd in her brother.

As they sat at the high board that evening, Edward said to his young brother-in-law, "Would you enjoy going to the abbey school in Shrewsbury, Glynn?"

"Could I?" the boy asked, his eyes wide with hope.

"Perhaps next spring it could be arranged. While you were gone Prince Edward and his wife came unexpectedly to Haven. King Louis of France is planning another crusade to the Holy Land next year. Your sister and I are to accompany the prince. While we are gone you must continue your education. What better place than in Shrewsbury?"

"My lord," Father John spoke up, "why would the prince come here? We are but a small Marcher holding and not important to him."

"Edward Plantagenet will sooner than later be England's king, good father. It is for the very reason I am a Marcher lord that he came to Haven-at-Thorley. And the fact that 1 am wed to ap Gruffydd's daughter. He seeks to divine my loyalties without asking. There was no way I could refuse him without arousing his suspicions. That my lady wife enthusiastically volunteered to go along has quite raised Prince Edward's esteem of me," Edward de Beaulieu finished with a chuckle.

"Why can I not go, too?" Glynn asked.

"Because, brother-in-law, I am certain your father would not allow it. There will be time for you to go on crusade when you are older. For now I think it best, and I believe your father will agree, that you continue your education in Shrewsbury," Edward replied.

"If you retake the Holy Land, there will be no more crusades," Glynn said gloomily.

"The Saracens and the Christians have battled back and forth over the holy ground for centuries now, Glynn. There will always be crusades, I fear. Do not despair. You will have your chance one day."

Martinmas, the feast of St. Martin, was celebrated on November eleventh. A fat goose was slaughtered and roasted to be served in the hall. On November twenty-fifth St. Catherine's day was celebrated with Cathern cakes and a beverage called Lambs' Wool, named for the roasted apple that floated in it, which was served in a special Cathern bowl. Edward presented his wife with a special brooch in the shape of a wheel made from silver and onyx. The twelve days of Christmas came and went, and it was January.

Edward de Beaulieu was already recruiting men to accompany them on crusade. He had been informed by royal messenger that while he was away, his taxes would be forgiven. He so informed his tenants and serfs that whoever accompanied him would also be excused from their taxes and rents. There was no shortage of volunteers under those conditions. The lord of the castle was able to pick and choose whom he would take with him. By mid-January the one hundred chosen men were hard at work training with bow and pike and stave. They learned how to use a battering ram and a siege weapon called a tarques. They learned how to dig beneath a wall so as to collapse it.

Three young men, from less important families than Edward de Beaulieu's and who had already been knighted but sought adventure, came to Haven-at-Thorley to join the lord's party. Such an opportunity was not to be missed, for if they performed well on the field of battle and drew favorable attention to themselves, their fortunes could be made. Sir Fulk, Sir Robert, and Sir Hugo all came with squire, horses, and weapons. They were welcomed and given places in the hall and at the lord's board. They were at first amused by the lady's desire to fight alongside them, but when they learned firsthand of Rhonwyn's skill with weapons, their laughter turned to respect.

Edward bristled silently at his wife's unorthodox behavior. As her passion for the crusade deepened, it seemed she became less interested in a shared passion between them. Yet his desire for her was growing daily, and he was forced on several occasions to restrain his jealousy at the open admiration for Rhonwyn of the three young knights. It was, he well knew, nothing more than esteem on the part of Sir Fulk, Sir Robert, and Sir Hugo. As for Rhonwyn, the company of the knights meant nothing more to her than that of Oth and Dewi. With warriors about her, she simply seemed back in her element once again. Edward de Beaulieu was beginning to wish that Edward Plantagenet had never come to Haven with his talk of crusades and with a wife who was both willing and able to follow him. At least the prince had legitimate heirs.

Rhonwyn had never been counted a fool. She sensed her husband's unhappiness and knew there was but one way to placate him. She must allow him possession of her body once more. She wondered if she could do it without showing distaste. She no longer worried about becoming enceinte, for Enit's mother had indeed known just what to use to prevent such an event. Each morning her maidservant brought her a draught to drink, but of course Rhonwyn knew she could never be certain of its effects unless there was the chance of her having a child.

She had to admit she found kissing and caressing less unpleasant than at first. Edward might become passionate with her, but he had never been cruel or rough but for that first night. Rhonwyn counted herself a brave woman. She did not fear battle or even death, but she did fear the marital act. It was simply too all-possessing, but she would have to learn to endure it as she endured the pain of a wound. Edward was a good man, and she owed him not just her loyalty but his rights as a husband. If he repudiated her, her father would be shamed, and she could not allow that to happen.

She gathered all her courage, and that evening before she departed the hall she whispered to him, "Perhaps tonight I am brave enough, my lord, to share my bed with you." Then she hurried to her chamber in the south tower. As was her custom since being civilized, she bathed and put on a clean chemise. Then she dismissed Enit. She waited, sitting on the edge of her bed as she brushed her long hair.

Coming through the door connecting their bedchambers, he silently took the pearwood brush and skimmed it down the silken length. He did not understand this change of heart that had suddenly affected her, but he sensed he must be tender with her. His arm slipped about her narrow waist to draw her back against him. He nuzzled at her ear, and all the while he brushed and brushed and brushed the swath of hair. Then to her surprise he ceased and efficiently plaited her tresses into a single thick braid, fastening it with the ribbon he pulled from her chemise.

He drew the garment off her shoulders, and it slid to her waist. Kneeling before her, Edward reached up and began to caress her small breasts. She shivered, but did not stop him. His fingers teased playfully at her nipples, arousing her slowly and carefully. Standing now, he drew her up with him and kissed her, his mouth working tenderly over hers. Here, at least, he knew she was not afraid, for his wife enjoyed kissing, it seemed.

Rhonwyn slipped her arms about his neck, and as her bare flesh pressed against his chest, she realized that he wore no clothes. She had been so intensely focused on her own situation that she hadn't even looked at him. Now she felt him against her. His thighs were hairy as was his chest, its fur tickling her. His lips were intoxicating, and for the briefest moment she allowed herself to become lost in his kisses. Then she felt it. His manhood burgeoning against her thigh, and she tensed once more. She knew what was to come next. He would cover her body with his big frame and possess her in a way that terrified her. And this time she could not cry out or struggle against him.

"Trust me," he begged her, feeling her slender body becoming tight once more. He kissed her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose, the corners of her mouth. Pressing her back onto their bed, he murmured into her ear, "There is pleasure in a man and woman's coming together, my lambkin. Let me share that pleasure with you, Rhonwyn. Please!"

"I cannot help how I feel," she half sobbed. "Please, Edward, my lord, just do what you will with me."

He rolled away from her, and then propping himself upon his elbow, said angrily, "You are behaving like a whore, damnit! You spread yourself for me, and yet you feel nothing at all. Why?"

She was weeping now. "I do not know!" she said.

"Surely ap Gruffydd loved your mam and treated her well," Edward said, struggling to keep his lust under control.

"He did!" Rhonwyn cried. "Their passion for one another is the stuff legends are made of, I know now. They shut everyone and everything out of their lives, even Glynn and me. Their thoughts were only for each other."

"Do you fear to love me, Rhonwyn?" he asked her.

"Aye, I do!" she admitted fiercely. "I don't want to lose myself, Edward. Can you understand that?"

"I love you, yet am I any less the man I was when you met me?" he demanded of her.

"You seem kinder," she whispered. His hand was caressing her quivering belly.

"You make me want to be kinder, Rhonwyn, but that does not mean I have lost control over myself, nor will you if you love me. ap Gruffydd's passion for Vala was a unique occurrence, an obsession they both felt in the powerful attraction they had for one another. Most marriage unions are not like that, my lambkin."

"What are they like?" she said low. His fingers were tangling themselves in her thick silvery bush. She was fearful, yet found it very exciting, and did not stop him.

"My parents despised one another. They were wed because their lands adjoined each other and my mother was an only child. My father's brother, however, fell in love with his own wife. They were happy together, and they respected one another. They were faithful till death, unlike my parents. My father kept a series of lemans. My mother grew more bitter over it as each day passed, but she would not let him in her bed after she had given him his heir. He died in the bed of one of his other women, and my mother would not wash his body for burial. My aunt came and did it. She was a gentle woman with a forgiving heart. My mother finally died several years ago, of her own bile, I am certain. Only the poor may have the luxury of marrying for love, Rhonwyn, but often those of our class grow to love our mates. I have fallen in love with you, and I feel a fury within me when other men admire you; especially because I know that I cannot have you any more than they can."

"Oh."

"It cannot go on between us like this," he said.

"I know," she replied.

"Certainly you cannot fear what is familiar to you, wife. From this night on we will share a bed. You know I mean you no harm, but I want you, and by the rood, I shall have you!" His fingers caressed the pink slit that hid all her treasures. He pushed past it and began to tease at the tiny nub of flesh within. Soon she was moist, and he slid a finger deep inside her.

Rhonwyn gasped softly at this unexpected onslaught, but she managed not to cry out. It wasn't really that awful. The digit within her moved slowly. Edward leaned over and began kissing her again, but then without warning his finger was withdrawn and his body was covering hers. Rhonwyn fought with herself not to scream as his weight pressed her down into the feather bed and mattress. His rock-hard manhood slid easily into her this time.

"There, lambkin, is it not better this time?" he murmured into her ear. His breath was hot and moist.

She couldn't speak. She could barely breathe, but she forced herself to embrace him so he should not know her terror, so that he might gain his pleasure from her and leave her be. He moved with increasing rapidity upon her, his manhood driving deep inside her until he collapsed. Finally he rolled away, allowing her to draw a deep breath of relief.

After a time he said sadly, "You had no joy of it, did you, wife?" Taking her hand up, he kissed the fingers individually. "I want you to love me, Rhonwyn, and by God there will come a day when you will!"

"I think I may," she told him, "and I shall never again deny you your rights, my lord Edward. In time I may come to gain happiness from our bodies joining. I am no longer fearful of your kisses or your touching. The rest will come in time, I know it!" I pray it, she thought silently as he gathered her into his arms and fell asleep. What was it, she wondered, that made her resist so natural a happening? If he had been a cruel man, she might have understood herself better. Still, something niggled at the back of her brain and fretted her over this passion between a man and a woman.

He continued to join her each night, and Rhonwyn grew quite used to having him beside her. She was actually beginning to find his bulk comforting. But for the nights when her woman's show of blood was upon her, he used her body regularly. While her fear of him had subsided, she could not seem to gain the same pleasure from their coupling that he did. It saddened them both, but Rhonwyn learned by caressing and kissing Edward, she offered them both some measure of enjoyment. For now it was all she could do but pray for some change that would one day allow her to delight in their coming together.

Th e winter subsided, and spring came. They had been wed for a year, and in that time had heard nothing from ap Gruffydd. Having received a message from Prince Edward, Edward finally sent for his cousin Rafe de Beaulieu. The crusade was to proceed. At Edward's call both Rafe and his younger sister, Katherine, came to Haven.

Katherine de Beaulieu was much like her brother in features, but in manner she was a quiet and delerential girl. She was eighteen to Rhonwyn's seventeen, and neither married nor betrothed. She did not, according to Rafe, have enough of a dowry.

"Our parents were of modest means. We always thought she would wed Edward," he said boldly.

"I told you I should give Kate a generous dower," Edward said through gritted teeth. "She is worthy of it, and my blood kin besides."

"I am content to remain at Ardley and care for your house, brother," Katherine said, openly embarrassed by her sibling's rudeness. Her fair skin was flushed.

"Will you remain at Haven with your brother while he is here, mistress?" Rhonwyn asked. "Or will you return to your home?" She ignored Rafe.

"My brother feels I should not be left alone at Ardley, cousin Rhonwyn," the girl said. "He has a trusted bailiff who will care for the manor in our absence. With your permission, in your absence I shall take your place overseeing this household."

"You have my permission, cousin," Rhonwyn replied. "I should appreciate it if you would have young Glynn of Thorley home on his school holidays should he wish it."

"So, your wife is thoughtful of your bastard, Ned," Rafe de Beaulieu said, clapping his cousin on the back heartily. "Which of your wenches did you get the lad on, you sly dog!"

"Why do you put up with his rudeness?" Rhonwyn grumbled later when they had a moment of privacy.

Edward smiled. "Rafe is a good man, wife, but he loves his sister dearly and is jealous seeing you in what he believed would be her place. I know his tongue is sharp ofttimes, but his serfs and his few tenants worship him, for his heart is kind. He will not permit children beneath the age of ten to work in his fields more than three hours a day."

"I do not like him," Rhonwyn said, "although I think his sister a sweet girl with no jealousy or ambition in her heart. Rafe is arrogant and, I believe, sees himself in your place."

Edward laughed. "Nay, he does not, but I will agree his way is sometimes rough. But if you fear such a thing, give me a son, and Rafe will be forced to melt away, Rhonwyn, my wild Welsh wife."

She blushed, but she also smiled.

It had been decided between them that Rafe and his sister not know Glynn's true identity. Ap Gruffydd's son was far safer that way, and Edward was not really certain how far he might trust his cousin. Rafe was his heir in the event he died without issue, but now that Edward had a wife and it appeared he had fathered a son on a former leman, perhaps his cousin would be less proprietary of Haven. He had been very angry and greatly disappointed when Edward told him of the marriage that was to be arranged between him and the Welsh prince's daughter.

But Rafe de Beaulieu had not bothered to look for a husband for his sister now that there was a chance that Edward and his wife might not even return from the crusade they were embarking upon. Such a venture was a dangerous thing, and many who went never lived to see England again. If Rafe became Lord Thorley of Haven, he could make Kate a far better match than Rafe de Beaulieu of Ardley Manor could. By waiting, he increased both their chances. And what if the Welsh wench perished on crusade, but Ned came home? He could wed Kate to their cousin as his parents had always hoped. And if Ned perished and the lady Rhonwyn returned, he would marry himself to the Welsh girl in a trice and thereby gain Haven by both inheritance and marriage to ap Gruffydd's daughter, whose very presence would keep those marauders from his gates. He could sense that his fortune was already made.

Preparations for the departure were well underway as the spring deepened, and the fields grew green with new growth. Provisions had to be gathered and packed for the troop of men Edward had promised the prince. Horses were shod; wagons repaired, made solid, and packed. The women at Thorley had sewed all winter, making waterproof tents for the expedition: a large one for the lord and his wife, smaller ones for the knights and the foot soldiers. Was the grindstone packed? And the bedding and small furniture for the lord's tent? A separate wagon was loaded for the kitchen and its basic utensils.

Glynn was taken by his sister and brother-in-law to Shrewsbury to the abbey school where he had been enrolled. The abbott received them in his private chambers, and fixing Edward de Beaulieu with a stern look, said, "I want the truth of this boy's heritage, my lord, or I will not have him. It has been implied that he is your get, but I see nothing of you in this lad. You may speak to me as you would were we in the confessional, but for the safety of my abbey, I will know the truth."

"He is Glynn ap Llywelyn, my wife's younger brother, Father Abbott" was the immediate reply. "The prince left the boy in my charge months ago, as my wife had never been separated from her sibling, and from his character it is obvious to all that he is not meant to be a soldier. He loves learning and creating music, poetry, and songs. His true identity we have kept carefully to ourselves, for I would not have this boy used as a weapon against any. Even my cousin Rafe does not know who he is. We thought it better that it was believed he was mine."

The abbott nodded, understanding. "Does his father know where he is, my lord?"

"Aye, he does. When he brought the boy to us he left two of his men with the lad. I have sent them back into Wales to tell ap Gruffydd where his son is. He will not object. You have sworn this conversation between us is private, my lord abbott. Now I beg you to keep the secret of my brother-in-law's true identity hidden and to yourself alone. Should there be war between Wales and England while my wife and I are gone on crusade, the lad will disappear from your abbey, and no harm will come to you or your people, I swear it. Though Glynn's father thinks little of his inclinations for learning and his penchant for poetry, he loves the boy. Few if any know of his existence, although it is rumored that the prince of the Welsh has a son."

The abbott was silent a moment, and then he turned to Glynn. "Tell me, my son, are you content to be known as a bastard within these walls? As a nobleman's get, you will, of course, be treated well, but there will be some who may bully you for your supposed birth."

"I am a bastard," Glynn replied quietly, "for our father was not wed to our mother except in their hearts, my lord abbott. Still, I have been treated well my whole life. If there are those who seek to dignify their own paltry existences by denigrating mine, I can but pray for them. 1 have not a warrior's heart, I fear."

"You are most welcome to the abbey school, Glynn of Thorley," Abbott Boniface said with a small smile. The lad was indeed intelligent, and his quiet reply led the cleric to wonder if the boy might not be a fit candidate for the religious life. Only time would tell. "Bid your sister and brother-in-law farewell, my son," he said.

Glynn shook Edward's hand. "Thank you," he said simply. "I will pray for your success and speedy return, my lord."

"You may visit Haven whenever there is a holiday and you wish to go home. Rafe and Katherine will be your family until we return," Edward replied, giving the lad a quick hug and ruffling his dark hair.

Glynn turned to his sister. There were tears in Rhonwyn's eyes, and her lip was trembling with emotion. "Do not dare weep, sister," he scolded her gently, for the first time in their lives taking the lead. "This is what I want, and to be with your husband in the service of God is what you want." Glynn put his arms about Rhonwyn and hugged her.

She drew away from him, taking his face in her hands. When had he gotten so tall, so big? Was that a bit of beard starting to grow on his chin? She kissed him on both of his cheeks. "When I return you will be a man," she lamented.

"I should be a man eventually in any case," he told her with a small smile, gently touching her cheek with his knuckles.

"You will study hard and obey the brothers," she said, suddenly stern with him. Then she lowered her voice. "If there is trouble, Oth and Dewi will come for you. Go with them without hesitation, Glynn. Promise me that, little brother."

"I promise," he answered her. He kissed her quickly on the lips and the forehead. "Go with God, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, and return safely to us when you can." Then he turned and followed the brother who had come to escort him from the lord abbott's chambers.

Rhonwyn immediately burst into tears, flinging herself into Edward's arms and sobbing piteously.

"They have hardly been separated in all their lifetime," Edward explained to the abbott.

"It is good to see such devotion between a brother and sister," the abbott noted. Then he said to Rhonwyn, whose sobs were now sniffles, "We will take good care of your brother, my lady. I swear it."

"Th-thank you, m-my lord abbott," Rhonwyn managed to say.

They left the abbey and returned almost immediately to Haven where their party was ready to depart for the coast.

Katherine and her brother bid them adieu. "I shall pray every day for your safety and your success," she said softly. "Godspeed, cousins!" There were tears in her soft blue eyes, and Rhonwyn swallowed her jealousy when she thought Kate's gaze lingered a fraction of a second too long upon Edward.

"My husband and I thank you, dear Kate. We shall be grateful for your prayers," she returned.

Their train moved off down the castle hill onto the local road that would lead them to a wider and larger main road.

"What a woman she is," Rafe said softly. "The fates have played us both a nasty jest, little sister. You with your gentle ways would be a far better mate for Edward; and Rhonwyn with her fiery ways would find herself happier with me for a husband."

"Rafe!" Kate was shocked to hear him voice such sentiments. "Their union is the king's will," she said chidingly.

He laughed softly. "Do not scold me, Kate, for wanting what I shall never have. I firmly believe that they will both return one day."

The English army was to gather at Dover, and from there go on to Bordeaux. Their journey would be by both land and water. Barges took them from Haven down the Severn to Gloucester. They moved overland from there, skirting about the city of London and heading for their first destination at Dover. Arriving there in mid-May, they discovered that Prince Edward was not ready to go. Those already in Dover would leave England on one of the advance vessels for France and travel onward across the countryside for Aigues-Mortes on the Mediterranean Sea, meeting up with the French there. Prince Edward and his train would follow as quickly as possible.

"My wife was to be a part of the princess Eleanor's train," Edward told the port official in charge.

"She'll join the princess when Prince Edward reaches Aigues-Mortes" was the reply. "If she's going, she'll have to travel with you for now, my lord," the port official said. Then his manner softened. "There's another lady traveling on the ship I'm assigning to you, my lady. You'll share a tiny cabin and be company for each other. Her husband, too, is among the king's knights."

"My husband and I cannot be together?" Rhonwyn was distressed.

"The men will have to find places to sleep on the deck, my lady. You are going to war against the infidel, not on a honeymoon voyage," the port official said sharply.

"You will address me courteously, sir," Rhonwyn said, an equally sharp edge to her voice. "I am the prince of the Welsh's daughter, not some country squire's wife."

"Your pardon, my lady," the official quickly replied. "With the prince being delayed, I am at my wit's end trying to make everything come out correctly."

Rhonwyn nodded regally at him, and her husband managed to suppress his amusement.

The vessel aboard which they sailed from Dover was a large one. All their men-at-arms and the three knights, their horses, and their equipment was upon it, as was a smaller party from Oxford. They sailed in a season of good weather, but were at sea for ten days before reaching Bordeaux. The boredom that had enveloped them aboard ship evaporated as they now headed south overland for France's single Mediterranean port of Aigues-Mortes. As they traveled the road grew more and more crowded with noblemen, knights, and men-at-arms all bound for the same destination- and the crusade.

It was almost the end of June when they reached Aigues-Mortes. There they learned that Prince Edward had not left England yet. The English were not certain what they should do. The French king, frail, his eyes aglow with the fire of a zealot, came to speak with them all.

"We are assured," he said, "that your prince will join us, if not here, then in the Holy Land. He has sent word that those of you already here should follow me, and he will meet us as soon as he can. There are ships aplenty for you all. We are happy to have been chosen for so worthy a crusade on behalf of our dear lord Jesus Christ."

When King Louis had left them, the English began to talk among themselves. Some of them were angry, and others were reticent about following in the French king's wake without their own prince.

" ‘Tis typical of Edward Longshanks to leave us here at the mercy of the French," one knight grumbled. "He was so damned insistent that we be ready on time, and then 'tis he who is still in England."

"He will come," another man said. "I have heard it was difficult getting money out of the king for this venture. King Henry did not want his son to go, but the queen finally prevailed upon him, saying that enough good men were joining with the prince that it would be churlish if he did not come now, having already promised."

"And just where did you obtain your information?" the first knight asked, disbelieving.

"The messenger from our king who came to King Louis" was the reply. "A friendly mug or two of ale always loosens a good man's tongue, and this fellow had ridden hard to bring his message to the French from our Henry."

"What of the women with us?" came the question.

Now Edward de Beaulieu spoke up. "They must come as they had planned," he said. "We can hardly leave them here in France at the mercy of strangers. Besides, if the prince comes straight through from England, as I believe he will, he will not stop at Aigues-Mortes, and then our ladies would be stranded. We must see the French make accommodation for them."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye" came the agreement of the men gathered together.

The French were approached. There were only six English noblewomen and their maidservants in the group. The French queen graciously invited them to travel to Carthage upon her vessel where they would be comfortable.

"After all," she reasoned to her husband, "these ladies were to travel in the train of my nephew's wife. We cannot simply cast them away. They are very brave, Louis, to have come with their husbands for Christ's sake. Until Edward and his wife arrive we must have a care for them."

The Eighth Crusade departed Aigues-Mortes on the first of July in the year twelve-seventy. The voyage to Carthage took them seventeen days and was uneventful but for their departure. Aigues-Mortes was France's only toehold on the Mediterranean, and it was a poor harbor. Separated from direct access to the sea by enormous sand dunes and girded about by large lagoons, the ships had to navigate through continuous and unceasing channels before reaching the open sea. It took a full day.

As they moved across the Mediterranean it grew increasingly warmer. Neither the English nor the French were used to such heat. The crusaders' encampment in Carthage was set up with its rows of tents, the great tent in the center of the camp belonging to the French king. There were cook tents for the soldiers and a hospital tent. Water was available but not in great supply, as some of the wells outside of the city of Carthage had obviously been deliberately poisoned. Sickness began to break out within the encampment despite the best efforts of the physicians to prevent it. Cesspits were dug for the epidemic of loose bowels that affected the men. They were quickly filled and covered even as new pits were being opened.

King Louis grew ill. He was not a young man, and the heat was taking its toll on him. Many around him were ill, including several of the English knights. When Edward de Beaulieu grew sick, Rhonwyn was at first overcome with fear, but then she rallied. The sickness, she suspected, came from the filth in the camp. She insisted on having their tent moved to the very edge of the encampment. The dysentery that affected him made his bowels run black and left him weak. Rhonwyn insisted the water her husband drank be boiled with three quinces, then strained through a clean cloth. Quinces were excellent for stopping dysentery, Rhonwyn knew. She then mashed the pulp of the stewed fruit with very sweet dates and fed it to him. The tent she kept scrupulously clean, emptying the night jar and cleaning it with vinegar and boiling water each time he used it. She recommended this manner of care to the French queen, but the king's physician laughed and said that Rhonwyn was old-fashioned. When the evil humors drained from the king, he would be well, and the crusade would continue as God had planned it.

Edward de Beaulieu had truly thought he was going to die, but then his wife's treatment began to work. His bowels stopped running, and his belly calmed. "Are you a witch?" he teased her.

" 'Tis but practical medicine I was taught at Mercy Abbey," she said with a smile, coming to sit on the edge of the camp bed where he now lay. Leaning down, she took a sea sponge from the basin of warm water at her feet and began to bathe him gently. The infirmarian at the abbey had always said that dirt was nasty and attracted evil humors no matter what the priests said about cleanliness being a vanity.

"The water smells like you," he told her.

"I put a drop of my oil in it," she replied, sweeping the sponge over his broad chest. She worked swiftly for she did not want him to get a chill, if such a thing was possible in this heat. When she had bathed every bit of him and tucked him back beneath the coverlet, she emptied the basin and then came to sit by him again.

"Lay with me," he said, pulling her into his arms. He stroked her fair hair with his big hand. 1 le was truly feeling better and was grateful for her kindness. In his illness he had thought often of his cousin Katherine and wished that Rhonwyn would be more like her. He felt no guilt for the secret reflection. Women should be like Katherine-who was nurturing and kind. It was true that the two young women had lived different lives, but still, Rhonwyn's sojourn at Mercy Abbey should have taught her that women must subject themselves to their husbands. Her recent behavior and nursing skills had given him reason to hope that perhaps Rhonwyn was becoming more the woman he desired and needed. He smiled down gently on her.

She could feel his heart beating beneath her ear as her head lay upon his chest. I love him, she thought suddenly. The mere idea of losing him makes me feel as if my heart would crack open. She had to tell him!

Looking up at him, she said, "Edward, I love you. I know I am not the most affectionate of women, but I do love you. If I should lose you, I would die, my lord. I would!" And suddenly tears were rolling down her pale cheeks, and she could not stifle them.

His arms closed back about her, and he replied, "Oh, Rhonwyn, my wild and sweet Welsh wife, do you not know how long I have waited and yearned to hear you say those words? Nay, lambkin, you cannot imagine. When I am well, we will consider the rest, but for now just knowing you love me renews my hope, and I already feel new strength pouring through my veins. I will get well all the quicker for knowing you care." He kissed the tears from her cheeks. "What a lass you are." And he smiled tenderly at her. She was indeed changing. 1 le would get her with child as soon as his full strength returned, and then send her home with his heir in her belly. She would leave him without protest for by then she would fully understand her wifely duty to him. He smiled, well pleased, and kissed her lips softly.

King Louis grew worse with his illness. Dysentery and plague were rife among the crusaders. Worse, the infidels were sending out raiding parties to harass the invaders. The king's brother, Charles of Anjou, who was the king of Naples and Sicily, had been the one to convince his sibling that coming to Carthage and converting the emir would gain him favor with the pope. As the king grew weaker, Charles of Anjou began to talk of a truce. Finally, on the twenty-fifth day of August, King Louis IX died of his illness.

Several days later Prince Edward finally arrived from England to find his uncle already prepared for burial and the long trip home to France. Charles of Anjou was in the midst of negotiating a truce with the infidel, much to Prince Edward's fury.

"You are a traitor to all of Christendom!" he roared at the Frenchman. "I will not be party to such treachery! Jerusalem must be freed from the infidel, and instead, you cowardly dog, you seek to make a truce with our enemy! Faugh! You sicken me, my lord! I cannot be in your presence without wanting to puke!"

"You are free to pursue your crusade, my lord," Charles of Anjou said silkily "With my brother dead, I must think of my own kingdom of Sicily. It is not as distant from the infidel as is your England."

Prince Edward left the royal tent and called for the English knights to meet with him. He told them what had happened and of his disgust with the French. "I am going on to Acre, and from there I will mount an expedition to take Jerusalem back from the infidel. Are you with me, my lords?" He raised his sword. "To the glory of God and of England!" he cried.

"For God and for England!" the English replied with one voice.

Prince Edward came to the tent of Edward de Beaulieu, smiling at Rhonwyn as he entered. "I am told, lady, that your lord improved each day, thanks to your tender care. Would that my aunt had heeded your simple advice, my uncle, King Louis, would be alive today." He waved his hand at Edward, who was struggling to arise. "Nay, my lord, lie back. I can see you are yet in a weakened condition." He sat on the single chair in the tent that Rhonwyn had fetched for him, and explained the situation. "If you feel you cannot continue on, my lord, you are free to return home with our blessing and our thanks."

"I will go on with you, my lord," Edward said. "Why did we come this far, if not to free Jerusalem? When do you leave?"

"It will take ten days or more to remount the expedition," the prince said. "Do you think you can travel by then?"

"Aye, my lord, I will be ready!" Edward said enthusiastically.

Rhonwyn bit her lip in vexation, but remained silent.

The prince arose. "I thank you, my lord, for your loyalty. I do not, as you well know, forget my friends, even as I remember my enemies." He turned to Rhonwyn. "My wife will be happy to receive you when you are able to leave your lord, lady," he told her, and then Prince Edward turned and departed the tent.

"You are not well enough to continue on," Rhonwyn said.

"I will be," he vowed.

"In ten days'time?" she scoffed.

"I have to be," he insisted. "Besides, the prince is overly optimistic. It will take at least a fortnight before he is ready to depart, and he will not be traveling at a great pace, as he has his wife and her ladies with him. You must go and see the lady Eleanor. Enit will look after me while you are gone, lambkin."

"If I do not believe you well enough to travel, my lord, I shall say so, and let none stop me," Rhonwyn told her husband.

He chuckled. "Such a fierce little Welsh wife, she is," he teased her. "I promise to behave, lady, if you will make me well in time to go. How can we not follow in the prince's wake? Now go and pay your respects to bis wife, Rhonwyn." He waved her off.

"I will see to him, lady," Enit promised.

Rhonwyn quickly bathed her face and hands. She smoothed her hair beneath its sheer veil, brushed an imaginary wrinkle from her gown, and hurried from their quarters to the royal English tent across the encampment. Having given her name and business to the guard, she was shortly admitted. She curtsied to Princess Eleanor.

"How nice to see you, Rhonwyn de Beaulieu," the prince's wife said. "Come, sit by my side and tell me of your good lord, whom I am told is ill. He recovers?"

"Aye, lady," Rhonwyn replied, and then she told the princess of their adventures to date. "I fear," she concluded, "that my lord will not be well enough to travel, but he insists otherwise."

"Men!" the lady Eleanor sympathized. "They all think they are indestructible." Then she laughed. "Go back to your good lord and make him well so he may have his wish. Then you will come and serve me as we make our way to the kingdom and city of Acre." She smiled warmly at Rhonwyn. "What stories we shall have to tell our grandchildren, lady."

"First I must have a child," Rhonwyn replied.

"You are not yet a mother?" The lady Eleanor's voice was filled with compassion. "We must make a special devotion to Our Lady's mother, Saint Anne. I have told you that she will not fail you. When you come to serve me we shall pray together."

Rhonwyn returned to her tent. She was suddenly filled with energy. "Find Sir Fulk," she told Enit. "I need to practice my sword-play." She turned to her husband. "Nursing you is hard work, my lord, but I feel the sudden need of exercise. Will you let me go for a little more time?"

He nodded, feeling generous, although her request was not pleasing to him. Still, he knew he couldn't expect her to change entirely overnight. A little bit of horseplay with Fulk could do no harm, and her new attitude was welcome to him. He then asked her, "What did the lady Eleanor say?"

"That men thought they were indestructible," she replied with a chuckle. "She bade me make you well enough to travel, and so I have no other choice, but first I will work off some of this surfeit of energy that I suddenly seem to have." She turned her back to him so he might fasten her padded vest.

"Wear your mail shirt," he instructed.

" 'Tis too hot," she complained.

"Nonetheless wear it, lady. Even in practice you fight fiercely and rouse the blood of your opponent. I do not want you harmed, lambkin." Nor did he want her ability to bear him children impaired by injury.

Her arming doublet secure, Rhonwyn pulled on her chausses over her legs, then her hauberk with its articulated shoulder plates and her mail coif. "I will be boiled alive in these things," she grumbled.

" 'Tis the price we warriors pay," he teased her. "Practice out of the direct sun and not for too long. If you get sick, who will I have to so tenderly nurse me, my lambkin?"

"Fool," she mocked him. "You are only jealous that I get to play with my sword, and you cannot."

"I should prefer it if you played with my sword," he said with a wicked smile.

Rhonwyn blushed to the roots of her pale hair. "Edward!"

He grinned mischievously. "Come and give us a kiss, lambkin."

"You don't deserve one, saying such naughty things. I shall leave you to think on your sins, my lord, and perhaps when I return, I shall give you a kiss if you are truly penitent and deserve it." Then she picked up her weapon and ran from their tent.

He watched her go, a smile upon his handsome face. He would certainly not have believed that going on crusade with his wife would have brought them closer, but it had. Perhaps this was God's blessing upon them both for their faithfulness. For the first time in the months they had been wed, he was beginning to have hope.

Chapter 8

Rhonwyn practiced her swordplay with Sir Fulk beneath an open awning on the shady side of the camp. Those who passed by and saw her assumed that the two knights were both men, for Rhonwyn's long hair was hidden beneath her mail coif. The high summer's heat made it difficult to drill for long periods of time without cessations for rest and water in between the exercises. It was during one of those short respites that the alarm rang out in the camp.

"Quick, lady, I must take you back to your tent," Sir Fulk said nervously.

"Nay," Rhonwyn responded, "this is our chance to meet the infidel in battle, Fulk! With the French negotiating a truce, when will we have another chance?"

"But when we reach Acre, we will battle for Jerusalem, lady. There will be time then," Fulk responded hopefully.

"Faugh! We cannot be certain of that," Rhonwyn said. "Neither of us has bloodied our swords yet, and you know had not my lord been ill, we would have by now! Come on! To horse, Fulk! To horse!" Then she ran off toward the pen where the animals were tethered.

For a moment Fulk hesitated. He knew that he ought to go to the tent and tell Edward de Beaulieu, but if he did, the skirmish would likely be over and done with before he even had time to find his own mount. The infidels harassed the crusaders several times daily, but they never remained long enough to engage them in serious battle. His decision made, Sir Fulk ran after Rhonwyn. It was not fair that she have all the fun.

At the horse pens, his squire had already saddled both her horse and his. Mounted, they charged through the maze of tents to where they could hear the sounds of action. Sir Fulk had to admit that his lady was absolutely fearless. She charged eagerly into the fray with a fierce war cry, her sword slashing right and left as she attacked her opponents.

It was so exhilarating, Rhonwyn thought as she fought the enemy. She had never before known such incredible excitement. There was a faint red mist before her eyes, and while she knew she felt fear, she was not afraid. Her skills would see her through, for she knew she was a more than competent warrior. She could almost hear Oth in her ear, directing her every move as if he had been right by her side. Her foes gave way before her, and she almost laughed aloud with her elation. Around her the English and the French seemed energized by her ferocity, and the infidels were suddenly aware of a new attitude in the enemy. This was no mere skirmish. For the first time this was a real battle. Rhonwyn could hear Fulk beside her, for he had a tendency to hum beneath his breath when he fought. Her sword plunged into softness, and she focused to see the shocked look on her victim's face as he fell from his horse to die on the sand beneath Hardd's hooves. A howl went up from the infidels. The casualty had obviously been someone of import.

She was overwhelmed with sudden surprise. She had killed a man! This was no mock battle. This was bloody reality, and the cries of the wounded and dying assailed her ears now as they had not before. Her sword arm fell, and in that moment Rhonwyn found herself surrounded by black-bearded infidels. Her instinct for survival rose up, and she attempted to fight her way out. Sir Fulk howled a battle cry as he came to her aid.

Rhonwyn was not certain how it happened, but she and her companion were completely cut off from the other crusaders. The infidels seemed intent on moving them away from any and all aid. One reached out and yanked the reins from her gauntleted hand. Then the troop galloped off, Rhonwyn in their midst, Sir Fulk in wild pursuit. Even in possession of her sword there was no chance to defend herself. She considered slashing the reins free from her captor, but she was so tightly wedged in the middle of them there was no room to fight her way out. She had no choice but to go along.

It had been late afternoon when the battle had begun. But now it was dark. The terrain was rough, and Rhonwyn noted their direction was toward a range of mountains in the near distance. When they finally came to a halt, the infidels pulled her from her horse and took her weapon. Sir Fulk was hauled from his mount and disarmed as well. Pushed to the ground, they were told by one of the infidels, "Sit," in hard, rough tones as he pointed to a spot near some rocks.

"Say nothing," Sir Fulk whispered to her.

Rhonwyn nodded. She knew as well as her companion that their captors had no idea she was a woman. They were given a small round flat bread and a cup of brackish water to share between them. When they had eaten and sipped the water, reserving a bit for later, Fulk spoke once again.

"Sleep. I will take the first watch, lady."

Rhonwyn nodded and closed her eyes, but sleep was not easy. They had to escape before much longer. As it was they were going to be hard-pressed to find their way back to the crusaders' encampment. And Edward. He was going to be absolutely furious with her. She would be fortunate if he didn't send her back to England immediately. She knew now that Fulk's had been the wiser path. She should have let him escort her back to her tent when the sounds of action had come to their ears.

What would happen if the infidels discovered she was a woman? She shuddered to even contemplate. Rhonwyn felt tears welling up behind her closed eyelids, and she struggled to force them back. If she allowed herself to give in to her fears, she could not think, and she had to think if she were to come up with a plan of escape. Sir Fulk was a good fighter, but he had no skill for tactics. Then to her surprise she actually dozed, but for how long she didn't know. Fulk was shaking her awake.

"We are moving on, lady," he said softly.

"It is night," she whispered back.

"There is a moon, and it is cooler to travel at night," he replied. "One of them speaks the Norman tongue. Get on your horse before any of them gets too close to you."

"We must escape," she said desperately.

"How?" His tone was bleak.

Rhonwyn mounted her horse, sitting despairingly as her wrists, still covered by her gauntlets, were lashed together to her saddle's pommel. She glanced over to Sir Fulk to find he had also been bound in the same manner. They rode on through the night, stopping only when the sun was high in the heavens. Again they were fed flat bread and a cup of water between them and told to sit beneath a rock overhang that sheltered them from the burning sun. Below them Rhonwyn could see the plain and the sea, but nowhere did she glimpse the city of Carthage or the crusaders' encampment.

"What will happen to us?" Rhonwyn murmured low to Sir Fulk.

"The one who speaks our tongue says knights are frequently ransomed, lady," he replied. "They are impressed with your fighting skills and say they are taking you to their leader in hopes he may convert you to Islam and to their side. They say you are too great a warrior, and none could pay the price of your ransom."

"Jesu!" Rhonwyn swore softly. She didn't dare ask what would happen if, or when, they learned she was a woman.

Sir Fulk knew what she was thinking, but there was nothing he could say that would be of comfort to her. If he had known this was going to happen, he would have killed her himself rather than let her end up in some infidel's harem, which was where she was certain to be taken. He had heard enough talk around the camp to know that fair-haired women were considered a great prize among the infidels. "We had best rest, lady," he said low. "We are sure to ride again once night falls and the moon rises."

Rhonwyn nodded. If she could retain the secret of her identity, there was just the slightest chance she might be returned to where she belonged, and Sir Fulk, too. She glanced a moment at her companion. He was just twenty, a stocky man of medium height with sandy hair and warm brown eyes. His family lived across the Severn from Haven. Edward had known Sir Fulk his whole life. He had been very brave to follow after her, but perhaps it might have been better if he had returned to the camp to raise the alarm that she had been captured. Sir Fulk had followed his instincts and not his head, but then so, too, had she, Rhonwyn thought ruefully.

They rode the nights through, resting in the daytime. The infidels gave her and Fulk water only once during their travel. At the end of their day she got more water, but even so she did not get enough to satisfy her thirst. Her thoughts were constantly of Edward. Was he all right? Would he ever forgive her this folly?

At the completion of their fourth night of travel they came through a narrow pass with sheer rock-lined walls to a green and verdant valley. Before them was a blue lake, and at the far end of the lake lay a small and gleaming white city. The infidel who spoke their tongue was riding next to them.

"Cinnebar," he said, and nothing more.

They rode onward, conscious now of other paths all leading to a single wide paved road. They passed a heavily ladened camel caravan as they went. A farmer and his son drove a large herd of goats ahead of them. A smaller caravan came behind them, the sweet-smelling spices it carried perfuming the air. It was all so fascinating that for a brief time her fears left Rhonwyn, and she looked about her with interest. She would have quite a tale to tell Edward and the children they would have one day.

The traffic into Cinnebar now waited patiently at the city's gates for the portals to be opened this morning. As the sun rose over the eastern hills a great creaking and groaning was heard as the ironbound double doors were slowly pulled open to admit the travelers and commerce that stood outside. Identities were carefully checked, but their armed and mounted party was quickly waved through. The city's streets were narrow and twisting. They appeared to be riding upward, and at last they came out into a wide square before a great marble palace. Again their identities were perused at the entry, and then they were motioned inside. They rode into a small courtyard. The ground beneath their horses' hooves were of perfectly matched squares of black and white marble. The captives were aided in dismounting, their bonds slashed free.

The Norman-speaking infidel came to their side. "This is the palace of Rashid al Ahmet, the mighty caliph of Cinnebar, may Allah bless the names of his antecedents and his descendants in equal measure. Your fate is in his hands, but he will be eager to learn of the great Christian warrior, the slayer of his brother, who was considered the finest man-at-arms in all of Cinnebar. Come! Follow me!"

Rhonwyn had blanched at the infidel's words, and Sir Fulk's mouth fell open in surprise. They looked at each other in desperation, and then followed their guide into the palace. Once inside, they were brought into a small, attractive chamber. Water was brought so they might wash the dust of the road from their face and their hands. Plates of newly baked flat bread, sliced fruits, and a hot clear beverage smelling of mint were carried in to them, and then they were left alone for the first time since their capture.

"Do not eat," Sir Fulk advised her. "It could be poisoned."

Rhonwyn picked up a curved slice of melon and began to chew it eagerly. "If it is, I will die a quicker death than the one I face for having slain the brother of this caliph. We might as well eat, Fulk. Besides, I don't believe the food is tainted. They have not kept us alive this long to poison us now." She picked up a piece of flat bread and began to chew it. It was warm from the ovens and delicious. The beverage, too, was excellent, sweet and aromatic. She had never had anything like it before.

Her companion considered her words, and then began to eat as well. When they had finished, they washed their hands and face in the silver basin again, and then seated themselves to wait. The chamber was very quiet. Fulk considered how he was going to protect Rhonwyn. When it was discovered that she was a female, and she most certainly would be exposed very soon, he truly feared what was going to happen to her. And without a weapon he was utterly helpless to aid her. Had he a weapon, he should slay her so that she would not have to suffer the indignity of being ravaged by her captors. Perhaps, however, they would be so outraged at a woman having killed the caliph's brother, they would simply and quickly behead her. He prayed silently for such a merciful outcome.

The door to their chamber opened without warning, and the Norman-speaking infidel was there. "Come," he said. "The caliph is giving his weekly morning audience."

They arose and followed after him through the cool marble corridors of the palace. Two ebony-faced guards stood on either side of a pair of tall, wide bronze doors. They wore cloth-of-gold balloon pants, gold medallions shaped like hunting leopards hung from gold chains around their necks and onto their chests, and silver tipped spears carved from pure onyx were clasped in their hands. Without a word they swung open the doors, and the trio walked through into the caliph's audience chamber.

The room was square. The pillars that rimmed it were of green and white marble decorated at the bottom and top with carved gold bands. The floors were white marble covered in thick blue carpets. Tall censers shaped like lilies burned aloes, and polished wood torches burned fragrant oil. At the far end of the room Rhonwyn saw a low carpeted dais upon which a man sat cross-legged. She could tell he was tall and slender with a long face and nose. He wore a short, well-barbered black beard about his mouth and chin. His beringed hands, which he seemed to use to punctuate his speech, were elegant and slim. He was dressed in a simple white robe, and upon his head was a small turban.

The room was filled with men. The caliph was obviously hearing grievances and mediating disputes of one kind or another. The captives remained at the rear of the audience chamber for some time and then finally were beckoned forward. The Norman-speaking infidel brought them to stand before the caliph's throne.

"Kneel, dogs," he hissed at them, shoving at Fulk.

"We kneel only to God and our king," Rhonwyn said defiantly.

The Norman-speaking infidel merely glanced to the side, and at once there were guards forcing them to their knees before the caliph.

Their captor began speaking, but almost at once the caliph help up his hand. "Speak in their Frankish tongue so they may understand what it is you say, Farouk, and defend themselves, if indeed they can."

"Yes, my lord" came the reply.

"Which one of them killed Prince Abdallah?" the caliph demanded.

"That one," Farouk said, pointing to Rhonwyn, who knelt, her head bowed, as she strove to conceal her identity.

The caliph arose quickly and descended the dais. He stood before the kneeling knights. Suddenly his nostrils twitched quite visibly. He looked hard at the two kneeling figures. He sniffed softly once, twice. Then with a swift motion he reached out and pulled Rhonwyn's mail coif from her head. Yanking her to her feet, he stared in surprise a moment before he burst out laughing, even as her long gilt hair tumbled from the top of her head and spilled down her back. "A woman!" He roared with laughter. "A woman has killed that arrogant braggart who was my half brother? This is the fiercest knight in all of Christendom, Farouk? You make a jest, do you not?" His admiring gaze took in her fair beauty.

"My lord! Surely this is sorcery! It was a mounted and fierce knight who killed your brother and whom we took captive. I swear it to you, my lord caliph! I swear it!" Farouk's face was filled with fear.

"Take your hands off me, infidel!" Rhonwyn snapped, pulling away from the caliph. "Your cowering dog does not lie. I killed your brother. He was a careless swordsman and deserved to die for being so reckless in the heat of battle."

"Ah," the caliph breathed slowly, "you are right, woman. Abdallah was a feckless warrior. So much so that he could be killed by a mere female. Are you as ferocious in your lord's arms as you are on the battlefield? We shall see, you and I." He prowled about her, reaching out to take a handful of her hair in his fist, raising it to his nostrils. "This is what I smelled. Your hair is perfumed, woman. The fragrance suits you. I have never smelled anything like it before." Releasing his hold on her hair, he caught her face with his thumb and his forefinger, holding it in an iron grip. "You have skin the unsullied white of the moon, and your hair is like pure golden gilt. You are beautiful, but then you must know it. The emeralds you have for eyes are fiery with your anger, I can see. I shall call you Noor, which means light. I am Rashid al Ahmet, the caliph of Cinnebar, and you shall be the jewel of my harem, Noor." He turned from her and spoke to a tall, distinguished black man. "Take her to the women's quarters, Baba Haroun. See she is properly bathed and well rested. Then bring her to me at moonrise. Find someone within the harem to act as her translator until she can learn our language."

"Wait, my lord," Rhonwyn said. "What is to happen to my companion?"

"Is he your lover?" the caliph asked her.

"Of course not!" she replied indignantly. "He is one of my husband's knights. His name is Sir Fulk Anthony."

"Since he is not your lover I will be merciful and not kill him. I shall ransom him, or if I cannot, then I shall sell him into slavery," the caliph responded. He was disappointed she was not a virgin, but then he hadn't really expected someone as beautiful as Noor would be. Still, these Frankish women were usually backward in the arts of love. He would enjoy teaching her, and there would be no difficulty with virginal fears, only her Christian virtue, which he would eventually overcome.

The tall black man, Baba Haroun, came to fetch her. "Fulk, go with God," she cried out to him.

"And you also, my lady Rhonwyn!" he called as he was taken away in the opposite direction by two guards.

Rhonwyn shook the man's hand off her arm and glared at him indignantly. "I will follow you," she said. "You do not have to drag me like some shivering creature."

Baba Haroun stared at her angrily, but then the caliph spoke to him, and he chortled, nodding.

"He does not speak your Frankish tongue, Noor. I have told him you are to be respected and treated gently," Rashid al Ahmet explained. "He is not used to women disobeying him." The caliph smiled, then turned away to conduct the next business on his daily calendar.

She was dismissed, and so having no other choice, she turned and followed the tall man from the audience chamber. He led her across an open courtyard into another section of the palace. The guards at the entry stiffened to attention as they passed. Down a dimly lit and scented corridor she followed until finally they came through a gilded archway into a large room with a bubbling fountain. The room was filled with chattering women of all hues. Seeing Baba Haroun, they grew quickly silent. He smiled a superior smile at Rhonwyn as if to say, you see, I am a person of some importance.

"Where is the woman Nilak?" he demanded loudly in Arabic.

A small dignified female came from a corner where she had been seated. "Yes, my lord Haroun'? How may I serve you?"

"Do you still have command of your Frankish tongue?" he demanded roughly of her.

"I do," Nilak said politely.

"Then this woman is now in your charge by order of our most worthy master, the caliph Rashid al Ahmet, may his name be blessed. She is to be bathed and well rested, for he desires her presence at moonrise. Tell her, and also inform her that bad behavior and disobedience will be punished by a beating on the soles of her feet until she cannot walk, but must crawl." He then shoved Rhonwyn toward Nilak.

The older woman caught the girl and said quickly in Norman, "Do not retaliate, child. The caliph's chief eunuch is a man who holds grudges. If you shame him before the other women, he will never forgive you, and no one, not even the caliph, will be able to protect you from his vengeance."

Rhonwyn swallowed down her anger and nodded at Nilak.

"Good," Nilak said softly. "Now, come with me and we will talk. You will tell me who you are, and I will answer all the questions I see bubbling upon your lips." She took the younger woman by the hand and led her off into a quiet corner, speaking a few quick words to a passing slave girl as they went. "I have told her to bring us mint tea and gazelle-horn pastries," she explained to Rhonwyn. "Sit, child."

"Who are you," Rhonwyn asked her, "and how do you know the tongue of the Normans?"

"I am called Nilak. It means Lilacflower in the Arabic tongue. My history is a simple one. My father was a merchant in Provence. The Moors raided the town in which I lived, and I was captured and sold into slavery. I was twelve then. I have now seen forty-two springs. I was brought to Cinnebar with a princess who was given to this caliph's father as a gift. She died giving birth to a daughter, the caliph's hall sister. I raised the child until she was given in marriage. I am too old now to sell off, and so I am allowed to remain, being useful where I can be. Baba Haroun is glad to have me as a translator when girls speaking the Frankish tongue are brought here, as they occasionally are. Now tell me, child, who are you, and how came you here?"

Rhonwyn explained her adventures to the open-mouthed woman.

"You killed Prince Abdallah?" Nilak said, awed.

"I did not know who he was," Rhonwyn replied. "He was just an enemy in battle." She shrugged, then asked, "Tell me about this Baba Haroun? Who is he?"

"The chief eunuch of the caliph's harem, child," Nilak responded.

"I don't know what a eunuch is, nor a harem," Rhonwyn said.

"A harem is where the caliph's women-his wives, his concubines, his sisters, and other assorted female relations-live. No real man but the caliph is allowed in the women's quarters. A eunuch is a male who has been castrated so he may not function as a real man would," Nilak explained. "Castration is usually done when young. All men within these quarters-the servants, the slaves, the guards-are eunuchs."

"And this Baba Haroun is in charge of the caliph's harem?"

"Yes, my child, he is," Nilak answered her. "Obey him, give him public respect and esteem, and you can make him your friend. If you are to succeed here, you will need his good will. Without it you are doomed to obscurity, and obscurity is a lonely place."

"I do not intend to remain here," Rhonwyn said. "I shall escape and return to the coast where the crusaders are preparing to move on to Acre. My husband must be very worried and very angry by now."

Nilak's face became sympathetic. It was frequently this way with captives. They always wanted to flee, and that, of course, was not possible. "You cannot escape, my child," she began patiently. "It is very unlikely that you will ever again see the world outside this place except when you are taken for your burial. Besides, would your husband now receive you back into his heart, his house, and his good graces after you have been captured by the infidels? You are so fortunate, my child. You might have been raped and killed, but instead you have been brought into paradise on earth, for that is what Cinnebar is. The caliph is a strong ruler and a good man. If you can win his favor, if you bear him a son, your fortune is made. What better fate is there for a woman in this world?"

"But I have a husband," Rhonwyn repeated. For the first time in her life she was beginning to be frightened. Why had Fulk prevented her from escaping when they had the chance? All they had had to do was get back to the coastline and follow it to Carthage. She had seen the walls surrounding this palace. They were high and thick, and now she was trapped behind them. Forever, according to Nilak. It was a terrifying thought, and Rhonwyn began to shake with sudden fear.

Seeing it, Nilak put her arms about the girl. "There, child, it is all right. You will not be harmed, I promise you. Here, drink this," she said, offering Rhonwyn a small cup of the steaming fragrant beverage she had earlier imbibed. "Mint tea is very good for the nerves." She held the cup to Rhonwyn's lips, coaxing her gently. Then she turned to the slave girl who had brought the tea. "Go to Baba Haroun and tell him the girl is succumbing to shock. I will need a sleeping draught immediately if she is to be prevented from hysterics. And ask him if they have named her yet." Nilak turned back to Rhonwyn, who was now even paler. "Try one of these little gazelle-horn pastries," she said, offering it. "They are made with honey, raisins, and chopped almonds. I love them!" She picked up another and began to eat it. "Ummm, delicious!"

Struggling to gain control of herself, Rhonwyn took the pastry Nilak had offered her and began to chew it. It had no taste in her mouth. She swallowed, but put it back down upon the plate.

Nilak reached out and took the girl's cold hand in hers. "It will be all right, my child, I promise you. This is a good life."

"I am Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn, wife of Edward de Beaulieu, lord of Haven Castle. I do not belong here. They must let me go!"

Nilak gathered Rhonwyn into her arms and held her tightly.

It was at that moment Baba Haroun hurried over to the two women. "What is happening to her?" he demanded. "She must be ready to go to the caliph tonight."

"She is in shock, my lord Haroun. It is to be expected, after all. She may have come here as a warrior, but she is in reality only a young woman," Nilak murmured softly. "If the caliph is already taken by her beauty, we must treat her gently so our lord and master is not disappointed in either you or me."

"Your years have given you wisdom, Nilak," he grudgingly agreed, reaching into his voluminous red, black, and yellow-striped robe. "Here is a gentle sleeping potion that will calm the girl." He uncorked the little silver vial and poured it into Rhonwyn's cup.

Nilak put the cup to Rhonwyn's lips. "Drink, my child. We have put a mild dose of herbs into your tea to relax you. You need to sleep so you may face life as bravely now as you have always faced it in the past. Drink."

Rhonwyn didn't argue, gulping down the fragrant brew as if she couldn't escape fast enough. She hated this loss of control over her own life. Within minutes her eyes grew heavy. She didn't protest as Nilak led her to a couch where she lay down and promptly fell into a dreamless sleep.

"What is she to be called?" Nilak asked the chief eunuch.

"Noor," he answered her.

"How suitable," Nilak remarked. "Will you help me get her out of these odd garments, Baba Haroun? I do not want to entrust her to the other women of the harem quite yet. Has the lady Alia been informed of this girl's arrival and the caliph's interest?"

He nodded, thinking as he did that Nilak was perhaps a more valuable slave woman than he had previously considered. The lady Alia was the caliph's favorite wife. She had been wed to him when she was thirteen, and while he had two other wives and several favored concubines, it was the lady Alia who was his friend and his confidante now that the first flush of passion had passed them both. It was her son who would follow his father as the next caliph. She was well liked, feared, and respected by all in the harem.

"I have warned my lady of this new threat," Baba Haroun said. "She will come and see the girl as soon as we have gotten these clothes off of her."

They worked together, removing Rhonwyn's leather boots, her mail leg coverings, the chausses; her hauberk with its metal shoulder pads. Beneath the knight's garb they unlaced her padded arming doublet, and took off her braies, her hose, her chemise. Rhonwyn lay naked before them, her slender frame sweating and dirty but lovely.

"Allah! She is absolutely beautiful," Nilak said. "There has never been a woman here as fair, Baba Haroun."

The chief eunuch stood silent for a long moment, studying Rhonwyn. Her body was utterly flawless but for that ugly bush of hair at the junction where her two thighs met. That would be removed immediately. The limbs, however, were shapely and firm. The breasts small but nicely rounded with pert nipples. Bathed and properly garbed, she would be truly worthy of his master's bed.

"She is lovely," a new voice interjected, and they turned to find the lady Alia had joined them. "What kind of a girl do you think she is?"

"Warlike and difficult," Baba Haroun said immediately.

Alia laughed and patted his hand. "You are too protective of me, Haroun, and most prejudiced where any other woman is concerned. What think you, lady Nilak?"

"I am not certain yet, my lady, but this girl is, I believe, intelligent. I do not sense any wickedness about her, but she has been in my company only an hour or more. However, a woman who could convince her husband to allow her warlike pursuits is both clever and headstrong. She has been very brave these past few days, as you will come to see when I tell you her tale. Now she has only just realized her fate, and it has put her into shock. We will ascertain more of her character when she awakens in a few hours."

"Baba Haroun," the lady Alia said, "see that Noor is carefully guarded until I send the lady Nilak back to watch over her." She turned to the older woman. "Come, and you will tell me this girl's story."

Nilak followed the caliph's wife to her apartments, and they sat together as Nilak repeated what Rhonwyn had told her.

Alia was thoughtful for a few moments when Nilak had finished, and then she said, "Noor has done me a great favor in slaying Prince Abdallah, although she can hardly know it. Unless she sets herself up against me, she will have my friendship for that alone. If anything had happened to my lord Rashid, Abdallah would have killed my son to gain the caliphate for himself. Praise Allah he is now in Paradise, and not Cinnebar." Then her usually serene face grew concerned. "He is eager to possess her, they say. Will she be ready to go to his bed tonight, Nilak? He does not like to be disappointed, as you know."

Nilak sighed. "I cannot say, gracious lady," she answered honestly. "I do not know what the girl will be like once she awakens from her slumbers. Rest may restore her urge to resist."

"When she is bathed, bring her to me," the caliph's wife said.

Nilak arose and bowed to the lady Alia. Then she withdrew, hurrying back to where her new charge lay in a restless sleep, watched over by two armed eunuchs. "You may go now," she told the two guards, and sat down next to Rhonwyn. She beckoned to a slave girl and sent her for the embroidery she had been working on earlier. Receiving it, she bent over her needle once again.

Rhonwyn awoke, confused as to where she was, her mouth dry. Then Nilak's lace came into her view, and the girl fell back against her pillows. "I am thirsty," she said weakly.

Nilak poured her a goblet of liquid and held it to her lips. "It is fruit juice," she said as Rhonwyn greedily gulped down the contents of the goblet. "How do you feel now, my child?"

"Still tired" came the wary reply. Then Rhonwyn looked down, and seeing she was naked, gave a small cry. "What have you done with my garments, lady?" She was blushing furiously, and there was nothing nearby with which she might cover herself.

"You could not sleep in those rough garments, my child. Your lovely limbs were prickled with the mail of your leg and arm coverings. Only that padding about your breasts saved them from being so evilly marked. Can you stand up? You must go to the baths and be washed. You have slept almost the entire day away."

"Could you not have put another garment on me?" Rhonwyn demanded.

"A clean garment on a filthy body?" Nilak sounded shocked.

"I am going nowhere without something to cover me," Rhonwyn insisted stonily.

"I realize you are not used to being naked, my child, but we are all females here," Nilak replied quietly. "Come now, do not be foolish. The baths will restore you." Nilak arose and held out her hand.

"No!" Rhonwyn said.

Nilak did not bother to argue further. Noor was going to have to learn obedience sooner than later. She signaled to two eunuchs. "The lady Noor is to be escorted to the baths and is having a moment of obstinacy. See that she overcomes it. I will meet you there." Then she moved off, crossing the main room of the harem, a small smile upon her pretty face as she heard the shriek of outrage behind her. She did not bother to turn about. The eunuchs had been given their orders and would carry them out. Nilak entered the baths and called for the bath mistress.

"Good day, Sarai," she said as the bath mistress came.

"Good day to you, Nilak. You are bringing me the warrior woman? Where is she? I hear he wants her tonight and there will be a great deal to do with this one."

"She is coming," Nilak said with a small laugh. "She objected to being naked, and two eunuchs had to escort her, I fear."

"Foolish creature," Sarai muttered. "These Frankish women are so ridiculous in their fear of nudity. Ah, here she is."

Rhonwyn was pink with her outrage. The two eunuchs had grasped her arms and hustled her through the harem, practically lifting her off her feet when she resisted them. When they put her down before the bath mistress and Nilak, she whirled and struck them both with her fists. "Barbarians!" she shouted angrily.

The eunuchs were surprised by her ferocity, but neither was hurt by the blows. They laughed and then departed.

Rhonwyn turned again and said to Nilak, "How could you let them do that to me, lady?"

"I do not argue with foolish girls," Nilak said sternly. "The rule in this world is obedience, Noor. When you do not or will not obey, you will be made to, my child. Now, you are not a stupid girl, so this should be the only lesson you will need."

"I will escape this place, return to my old world," Rhonwyn said defiantly.

"No, you will not," Nilak said implacably. "Even if by some miracle you managed to leave the palace, you would not know where to go, and you would be caught and brought back. You would be whipped upon the soles of your feet until you could not walk for three days. That is the punishment for disobedient slave girls. We do not mar the beauty of harem women, but unruly behavior must be punished. Cease your foolishness, Noor! We have much to do before moonrise. This is Sarai, the bath mistress. You will obey her, and I will be by your side to see that you do."

"You remind me of my aunt," Rhonwyn said. "She is an abbess."

Nilak laughed. "And did she have to speak so directly to you, my child?"

"Aye," Rhonwyn said, and then followed the two older women into the balhs.

She had never thought herself a dirty woman, but she had also never known what clean truly was. She was rinsed and soaped. A silver instrument was used to scrape the dirt from her body. She was rinsed again. A thick peach-colored paste with a heavy fragrance was smoothed over her arms, her legs, beneath her arms, and atop her Venus mons. She was brought a cup of hot, sweet mint tea. When she had finished it, she watched in utter amazement as the paste was rinsed from her body, and her body hair with it.

Rhonwyn looked down at her mons and blushed. She had never noticed before how plump it was, nor the deep rosy slash that bisected its twin halves. There was an intense sensuality to her body now that made her very uncomfortable. Neither her nudity, nor their own nudity, seemed to disturb her two companions. What an odd world, she thought as she sat quietly while her fingernails and her toenails were pared almost to the quick and then smoothed and shaped neatly.

Her gilt-colored hair with its gold and silver lights was most thoroughly washed several times until she thought her scalp was going to be scrubbed raw. Then her hair was carefully dried by hands that toweled and brushed until her tresses almost floated like thistledown in a west wind. They lay her upon a raised and padded bench, and an old crone carrying a basket came From the shadows.

"This will be the hardest thing for you to bear," Nilak said. "Rafi will cleanse your love channel for you. There is no prurience in her actions, my child. Remain quiet, and she will not hurt you."

Rhonwyn's eyes were wide and startled at Nilak's words, but by now she realized that resistance was indeed futile. She tried not to tense as Rafi pulled her nether lips apart, bathing her gently in places Rhonwyn never knew could be bathed. The old lady's fingers pushed a soft cloth into her body, cleansing and purifying the path the caliph would take this night. Rhonwyn was amazed that she could be stretched quite that wide.

"He will enjoy this one, for while she is not a virgin, she is barely used," Rafi remarked to Nilak and Sarai. "Her pleasure jewel has not yet grown greatly." She cackled and looked down at Rhonwyn. "I am done now, my chick. May you know only joy in your master's bed."

"What did she say?" Rhonwyn asked Nilak.

"She says you are beautiful and wishes you joy" came the reply. "She is finished now, and you are ready for your creaming. Remain where you are. You will like this part," she said with a small smile.

A young eunuch, naked but for a loincloth, came with a tray of lotions and creams. Looking Rhonwyn over critically, he selected a lotion from his tray, poured it into his pink palm, and began to massage her body. Rhonwyn was shocked, but the young brown eunuch worked efficiently, her naked body apparently quite boring to him. His fingers dug into her shoulders and neck. He massaged her chest and breasts; her arms, hands, and fingers; legs, feet, and toes. Then he turned her over as easily as if he were turning a flat bread over a fire and began to work her shoulders again, her back, her buttocks, the backs of her legs and feet. Tense at first, Rhonwyn found herself relaxing in spite of herself and felt newly energized. These baths were the most deliciously decadent experience she had had in all of her life. She somehow thought that Edward would have enjoyed them, and the remembrance of her husband sobered her.

She was being prepared like a lamb for the slaughter for the caliph's bed. Another man. She had not been able to make happy the one she was wed to in the matter of passion. When she displeased this man, would he order her killed? Perhaps if he were unhappy with her, he would return her to the crusaders' encampment, and poor Sir Fulk as well. It was a slim hope, but one to which she would cling. She would tell the caliph honestly that she was unable to give or receive pleasure, and then he would send her back to Edward. There was nothing to be afraid of any longer, and she had certainly enjoyed these baths in the meantime. She would have to tell Edward all about them when she returned to him. Haven could certainly benefit by such civility.

Chapter 9

The caliph's wife was a beautiful woman whose intelligence, kindness, and common sense had kept her close to her husband's heart for over fifteen years. She was Egyptian by birth, a slender lady with pale golden-colored skin, beautiful almond-shaped brown eyes, and long, thick dark hair that she wore loose and dressed with strands of tiny pearls. She wore a peach-colored silk kaftan trimmed with gold at the keyhole neck opening and the wide sleeves.

"Kneel to the caliph's wife, Noor," Nilak instructed her charge.

Rhonwyn knelt, but she did not bow her head.

A barely discernible smile touched the lips of the caliph's wife. The girl had pride, and properly channeled that was a good trait. It was just possible that this beautiful creature might make her husband a fourth and final wife. An ally against the two silly featherbrains who held the positions of second and third wives and who spent much time attempting ways to supplant her or cause trouble for her son, Mohammed. And if her son had not been there to follow his father, they would have fought with each other over whose son would, and then Cinnebar would have suffered the tortures of a civil war.

"She is ready?" the caliph's wife asked Nilak.

"She seems to have come to an acceptance with herself, my lady. She has been bathed and purified properly, and it is hoped that the reality of the possession will more than satisfy the caliph's anticipation," Nilak replied with a small smile. "She is lovely, isn't she?"

The lady Alia nodded in agreement. "Tell her I am pleased with both her beauty and her gentle manners."

Nilak repeated the words spoken by Alia to Rhonwyn.

The girl looked to Nilak and asked, "Am I permitted to address this lady directly, or must I speak to you?"

"You may address her and I will translate," Nilak responded.

"I thank you, my lady, for your kindness. I hope the caliph will see fit to release me back to my husband so I may cause you no distress by my presense," Rhonwyn said politely. Certainly the caliph's wife could not enjoy having all these women waiting for her husband's attentions. She would undoubtedly be delighted to get rid of at least one, and Rhonwyn would surely be delighted to go.

Nilak repeated Rhonwyn's words, adding, "She does not yet understand our ways, my lady, and like most captives dreams of freedom."

"He will certainly dissuade her of such notions," Alia said. "By morning she will be his devoted slave as so many others are. I do not quite know what it is about Rashid, but he has great charm to go along with his insatiable appetites for passion. Tell Noor I thank her for her kind wishes and that she pleases me. If her gentle behavior continues, she will have my favor."

"Fortunate girl!" Nilak exclaimed to Rhonwyn. "You have pleased her with your good manners. If you continue to do so, she says, you will gain her favor. The caliph's second and third wives have never, even on their first nights with him, had her favor."

"The caliph has three wives?" Rhonwyn was both surprised and shocked.

"He is allowed four under the law of Islam," Nilak answered her. "And as many concubines as please him. The only stipulation is that under Islamic law all his wives must be treated equally. If you delight him, you could easily become his wife, Noor. And with her favor, who knows what heights you might attain within this house? Your future at this moment is most golden, my child. Do not forget me in your greatness."

"I have no stature here," Rhonwyn said in practical tones, "nor do I wish any, as you well know. I do not go to the caliph to delight him, but rather to plead for my release, Nilak."

"Do not be foolish, my child. I have told you there is no way back to your world from Cinnebar. Make the most of the opportunity offered you in this time and this place," Nilak said.

"What does Noor say?" the caliph's wife asked.

"She frets she will not be able to please him," Nilak lied with facile grace. What else could she say? she thought. "I am attempting to reassure her that she is a delight to the eye and will indeed please our lord and master, the caliph."

The lady Alia smiled warmly. "How can she not?" she said with generous spirit. "Have her go and rest now, Nilak."

"We are dismissed," Nilak told Rhonwyn. "Arise, Noor, and bow again to the mistress of the harem who has favored you."

Obedient to her mentor, Rhonwyn stood and bowed to the lady Alia. How pretty she is, she thought. How can she bear sharing her husband with all these women? I should not want to share Edward with another. Edward. He had wanted a kiss from her before she went off to her sword practice with Sir Fulk, and she had refused him. How she wished now she had not.

They brought Rhonwyn a tray upon which was a warm flat bread, several slices of chicken breast, an apricot, and a dish of something creamy and white that Nilak said was called yogurt and made from milk. Rhonwyn was hungry and ate it all. An old woman came, and following Nilak's instructions, Rhonwyn opened her mouth for the servant who vigorously cleaned her teeth and mouth in a way she had never experienced, using a minted ground pumice, a rough cloth, a small brush, and minted water.

"Your breath should be fragrant," Nilak said.

Rhonwyn slept. When she awakened she was made to pee and was then bathed swiftly with rose water. Her mouth was once again rinsed, and she was dressed in a loose cream-colored silk kaftan beneath which a narrow filigreed gold chain with a single jewel had been affixed low on her hips. Her feet were bare. Her golden gilt hair was loose and flowing.

"Baba Haroun will bring you to the caliph," Nilak said.

"Will I see you again?" Rhonwyn asked.

"If you do not destroy your chances with your foolishness," Nilak responded, "you will see me come the morrow. I know what you secretly think, Noor. A final time I warn you to put all thoughts of escape from your mind. This is your life now. Better to be at the top of the harem than at the bottom. I know. I never had your chance, but if I had, my child, if I had…" She put her arms about Rhonwyn and gave her a quick hug. "I think your aunt the abbess would advise you even as I do, Noor. Ah, here is Baba Haroun to escort you. Co with him now, and remember to bow to the caliph as I have told you. I wish you joy, my child. He is said to be a magnificent lover."

It would make no difference, Rhonwyn thought, as she followed the chief eunuch through the women's quarters and down a softly lit and scented corridor. If I could feel nothing with my beloved Edward, what can I feel with this stranger who says that I am his slave now and subject to his whims? If I cannot convince him to send me back to the crusaders' encampment outside of Carthage, then I am doomed.

The eunuch stopped before a set of double doors overlaid with gold leaf. He nodded to the two guards on either side of the entry, and they flung open the doors. Rhonwyn and Baba Haroun passed through, and the doors closed behind them.

The caliph stood awaiting them. Following Nilak's instructions, Rhonwyn fell to her knees and then flattened herself to the floor before the caliph, her forehead touching his bare foot. She found such a position degrading, but if she was to gain his cooperation, she must not antagonize Rashid al Ahmet.

"Prettily done, Noor," he said mockingly, "and not without a great cost to your pride, I am certain. Arise."

Baba Haroun helped her to her feet, and then to her surprise he quickly drew the kaftan off of her and as quickly withdrew from the chamber, leaving them alone.

It was useless to attempt to cover herself, Rhonwyn realized. She stood quietly, her eyes unfocused, struggling to conceal her shame.

"Put your hands behind your head," he said to her, surprised when she obeyed him. Had they drugged her into obedience? No. Her milky skin was faintly flushed, and she was deliberately avoiding his gaze. He smiled slightly and allowed himself a leisurely examination of his new possession. She was the most perfect woman he had ever seen in all his life. Her breasts were like little ripe peaches. Her limbs were nicely rounded but slender. He particularly liked her feet. They were small and slim with a high arch. Her narrow waistline flowed into shapely hips. He walked slowly about her, admiring her graceful long back and buttocks a bit plumper than he anticipated.

Standing behind her, he was unable to resist reaching around her to cup those sweet little breasts in the palms of his hands. They were surprisingly weighty for such dainty fruits. He buried his face in her hair, sniffing, then said, "What has happened to that delightful fragrance that earlier perfumed your locks, my exquisite Noor?"

"The scent is taken from the oil of a flower you do not have here in Cinnebar, my lord caliph," Rhonwyn answered. His hands were warm on her flesh and very disturbing, but if that was the worst of it, she would bear it for the sake of her ultimate goal.

His thumbs stroked idly across her nipples. "What is the flower? You shall have it, my beauty."

"It is called heather, my lord caliph. It will not thrive here in your climate," she replied. She wanted to pull away, but if she did, she would offend him, and then what would become of her?

"The plant may not grow here, my beauty, but we can import the oil for you. I shall give orders tomorrow that it be done." He released her breasts from his gentle grip and walked back around to face her once again. His eyes went to the chain that hung low on her rounded hips. From it hung a fat pear-shaped pearl that just touched the tip of the rose slash dividing her nether lips atop her plump mons. It was like a marker showing him the way to paradise. He wondered who had thought of such a clever touch.

"You may lower your arms now, Noor," he said.

"Thank you, my lord caliph," she replied.

"How mannerly you are, my beauty. From our first meeting this morning I would have suspected a tiny bit more resistance from you, and yet here you are, as meek as a lamb in one of my flocks. Now why is that, 1 wonder? Surely you have not so quickly reconciled yourself to your fate, Noor?" He cocked a dark eyebrow quizzically.

She was finally forced to focus her eyes upon him, for she could hardly plead her case without doing so. She swallowed hard, realizing he was clothed only in a bit of white silk cloth wrapped about his loins. He was almost as fair as she was, but for his hands and face, which were bronze with the sun. His body was devoid of hair, smooth and muscled yet slender, as she had earlier noted. He was by far the handsomest man she had ever seen. Nothing at all like her Edward, who, while attractive, could not match the perfect beauty of this man.

"Well?" he demanded.

"I cannot give you pleasure, my lord caliph!" Rhonwyn burst out.

"You mean you will resist my passion," he said.

Nervously she shook her head in the negative. "Nay, I mean, yes, I will, but it does not matter if I do or I don't. I cannot give you pleasure. I loved my husband, and he loved me, yet I was incapable of giving him anything more than my body. It was a terrible burden for us both. I am sorry, my lord, but now that you know, will you not send me back, and poor Sir Fulk with me?"

"No," he said. "I will not. There is not a woman in this world incapable of giving and receiving pleasure, Noor. With some it just takes longer or a different overture. I am sorry that you and your former lord could not find that happiness together, but I promise you that you will find it with me. Tonight perhaps, or tomorrow, but eventually, I promise you, my beautiful Noor."

"No!" she cried. What was he saying to her? The man was mad, surely! He could not possibly want her now. Not after she had told him the truth of how she was incapable of passion.

Seeing the panic beginning to rise in her eyes, Rashid al Ahmet reached out and pulled Rhonwyn against him. "Do not be afraid, my beauty," he crooned at her, his hand stroking her head gently.

"You do not understand!" she half sobbed.

"But I do, my exquisite beauty, I do," he said softly. "You have never been drowned in a surfeit of bodily pleasure, nor have you ever been overcome with the delights of burning lust. I will open these worlds to you, Noor. I will not allow someone as beautiful as you to live in ignorance of pure hot passion and the delights that satisfying it can bring you. You are mine now, Noor, and I will never let you go." He tipped her face up and kissed her hard.

His words confused her, and worse, they frightened her. Why would he not believe her? Then his lips covered hers, demanding what she could not give him, and Rhonwyn, to her horror, began to weep.

Rashid al Ahmet picked up the sobbing girl and brought her to his bed, gently laying her down. Then he held her in his arms as she gave vent to her sorrow. He said nothing, for he knew that nothing he said would comfort her. She was slowly and reluctantly coming to the realization that he, and not some Christian knight, was her fate. If she had indeed loved this man despite their inability to pleasure each other, then it would be a hard acceptance, but the caliph believed this girl was strong and would sooner than later succumb to her fate.

Edward! she cried within her mind. Edward! She could not believe that he was gone. That that life was over and done with forever. She could accept what the caliph was offering her or she could die. Dying, however, would not return her to Edward except perhaps in spirit. And what of him? Would he accept her loss easily? Their marriage, after all, had begun in political expediency. She did not doubt that he had grown fond of her as she had of him, but she was now gone from him. When he returned to England, to Haven, he would eventually have to remarry if he was to have heirs. He would probably choose his cousin Katherine this time. Katherine de Beaulieu was the kind of girl Edward should have had as a wife in the first place. She knew how to be a good chatelaine, and she was probably not frightened of passion and would quickly give Edward the heirs he needed. Yes. Perhaps it was better this way. She sighed deeply, her tears ceasing.

"It has been a long time since a woman felt free enough with me to weep against my chest," Rashid al Ahmet said quietly.

"Being a foreigner, 1 probably do not have their fear and respect of you, my lord caliph," Rhonwyn replied low. She hid her face from him. "I always look awful on the rare occasions I weep. I do not weep often. I think I have cried three times in all my life."

"I think you beautiful," he said, kissing her wet face.

Rhonwyn smiled in spite of herself.

"Ah," he said, "you are recovering from your anguish."

"My heart aches, my lord caliph," she admitted. Why was it she could talk to this man as she never had talked to any other?

"Of course it does. You have lost much, my beautiful Noor. It is almost like a death, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Aye, it is."

"Why are you afraid of passion?" he asked her gently.

"I am afraid of nothing!" she insisted.

"You are afraid of passion," he said. "Why? Tell me who you are and what land creates such beautiful women." He sat up now and drew her to his side.

"I am Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn-Rhonwyn, daughter of Llywelyn. My father is the prince of all the Welsh. My mother was his lover. I have a younger brother. When our mother died in childbirth my father took us to one of his castles to be raised. Unfortunately, he did not think to put us where there were women. I was raised among men, and thus copied their behavior."

"They taught you to fight," the caliph said.

"Aye, but only because I begged them to teach me. I loved them and wanted to be like them. Then one day my father appeared after many years and said I was to be wed as part of a treaty between him and the English king. He was horrified to find his daughter was more a lad than a lass. I was sent to my aunt, the abbess of a small abbey. For six months I was instructed in women's things, and then I was taken to England to be wed to Edward de Beaulieu, the lord of Haven Castle. When my lord decided to come on crusade, I said I would accompany him."

"And could not resist the call to arms, so you thus ended up my captive," the caliph said. "But where was your husband, Noor, that he allowed you into such danger?"

"He was ill with fever and a running of the bowels," she replied. "He was getting better and knew I suffered from a lack of exercise. When I said I would practice my swordplay with Sir Fulk, he agreed. During the battle I was captured and poor Sir Fulk followed after me. Had he not, he might be free."

"I shall not sell your knight off, for it would be a poor reward for his dutiful and faithful behavior toward his master's wife. I will set him the task of teaching my son Mohammed how your crusaders fight. It could prove useful to the lad one day. Does my decision please you, Noor?"

"Yes, my lord, and thank you," Rhonwyn said, daring to look up into his handsome face.

"I am said to be kind to those who please me," he murmured, and he bent to kiss her small ear. Then he let the tip of his tongue explore the delicate whorl of flesh.

What is he doing? Rhonwyn thought, feeling the hot wetness in her ear. She shivered. Edward had never done that. "Oh!"

His teeth gently worried the fleshy lobe. He pushed the mass of her hair aside and began to kiss the soft nape of her neck, intrigued by the tiny golden curls that sprang from it. They had perfumed her body with a mixture of rose and lily. It was an intoxicating fragrance that set his pulses racing. He nipped tenderly at the back of her neck.

"Oh!" She started nervously.

"Did your husband ever taste you, Noor?" he asked her. He took one of her hands and licked the palm slowly. Then he began to suck each of her lingers in turn, finally taking three of the digits into his mouth at once, murmuring his approval as he did so.

She was astounded by his behavior. It was surely depraved. Why did he not simply use her and be done with it? Then he surprised her further by laying her flat, his tongue licking at her body in long, leisurely sweeps. "Please!" she said.

He raised his dark head a moment. "Please, what?"

"Don't do that, my lord! Oh, please, don't do that!"

His tongue was laving over her breasts now. She could actually feel the flesh swelling. Her nipples puckered as if they had been touched with ice. Rhonwyn knew the panic was rising up in her, and to her surprise he seemed to sense it, too.

He said, "Why are you afraid, Noor? I am not hurting you. I am merely tasting your flesh, and I find it utterly delicious. I intend to bath your entire body with my tongue. There is nothing wrong in what I do."

"It is strange to me," she said weakly.

"Do you find no pleasure in it?"

"Nay!"

"You will eventually, my beauty, when you stop fearing the unknown and start to enjoy the pleasure I can give you this way," he told her. Then he continued onward.

Rhonwyn closed her eyes and attempted to ease her fears. He was right. She was being foolish. He wasn't hurting her at all. The fleshy tongue was warm, and she began to feel a tiny tingle when it swept over her skin, leaving it wet and then cool. He moved over her belly and then across her Venus mons, which caused her to cry out, startled and not just a little nervous to be touched so intimately.

He raised his head and laughed softly. "You are not ready yet, my exquisite Noor," he told her.

"R-ready for what?" she quavered.

"In time, my precious," he said mysteriously, and then began to lick her right thigh. His tongue moved down her leg to her feet, which he kissed most passionately. Then he sucked each of her toes in turn before beginning on her left leg.

"You are mad," she managed to gasp.

"Your flesh is an opiate of which I cannot get enough," he responded. Then he turned her over onto her belly and licked the soles of her feet until she giggled. He bathed her legs and her buttocks, running his tongue up the split between the twin moons of her bottom and raising another surprised cry from her. He only laughed again and continued onward until her back and her shoulders were damp with his excesses. He finished by giving her neck a final nip, then turned her over again.

"You're shivering," he said low, and brushed her lips with his lightly. "Have I begun to melt the ice that surrounds your cold northern heart, Noor?" He ran his tongue along her lips tauntingly. "Now, my beauty, it is time for you to begin your lessons in pleasing your lord and master." He leapt from the bed, pulling her up with him.

"Undo the wrapping about my loins," he commanded her.

"You will be naked," she said foolishly.

He chuckled. "I will." He reached out and undid the delicate chain about her hips, laying it aside. "Come now, my beauty. Why do you demur? You know what a man's body looks like. There should be no surprises in store for you."

"You are constantly surprising me, my lord caliph," she admitted to him, blushing as she spoke.

"The wrap," he firmly pressed her.

With hesitant fingers Rhonwyn loosened the cloth and then pulled it away from him, laying it aside. Her eyes were carefully averted.

"It pleases me to see how modest you are, my Noor, but you may look upon the object of your defeat without fear. Come, my beauty, and touch it. I want to feel your hands upon me."

She shrank back from his words, her hands instinctively going behind her back.

"What? You have never touched a manhood? Allah! Allah! You are practically a virgin, Noor. Come now." Reaching out, the caliph drew the resisting hand forward and placed it upon his smooth groin. He could feel her desperate to pull away, and so he kept his own hand (irmly on hers. "There, now, my beauty, let your fingers explore and caress me."

She knew she should not, but the temptation was simply too great. She bad always been curious about Edward's manhood, but had never been brave enough to touch him. Now here was this man inviting her to do so, and she couldn't resist, particularly when he lifted his hand off hers. She brushed her fingertips across his mound. Her hand closed gently about his manhood. It pulsed within her palm, and she could feel it swelling with each passing moment. Unable to stop herself, she caressed its great length, her breath coming a bit more quickly now. He was warm and hard in her hand.

"That's it, my beauty," he encouraged her. "Now cup my twin jewels in your palm. They are cool to your touch, are they not?"

She nodded slowly.

"They are filled with the seeds of life, Noor. When you are ready I will plant those seeds within you, my beauty. Cease your sweet torture now. In a moment or two I shall not be able to restrain my desire for you, and you are far from ready to meet my passion."

Her hand dropped away, and she hid her head in his shoulder. Those last moments had been very exciting, and she could feel her heart beating faster than it had previously.

"Your Christian men put women into four categories, Noor. Wives, mothers, whores, or saints. They do not share the secrets of pleasure with their mates. We men of Islam do, and we do not confine ourselves to only one woman. Such a thing is unnatural for a man. No one woman can satisfy all a man's passions."

"They tell me you have three wives, my lord caliph."

"I do, although the two younger I may dismiss, for they are quarrelsome creatures ever at odds with the lady Alia and the other women of my harem. Indeed, they may have been responsible for the death of a particularly lovely girl I had decided to favor. Baba Haroun is still investigating, and he will get to the bottom of the matter, I promise you. He is very protective of the lady Alia."

"Lady Alia is a gracious lady and was kind to me," Rhonwyn told him.

"She has already spoken in your favor, my Noor, which is why I will be patient with you." He tilted her face to his again and began to kiss her with far more passion than he had previously. Her instinct was to fight him, but something else overcame Rhonwyn, and she instead melted into his embrace, her mouth softening beneath his.

Why am I doing this? she silently asked herself. But she had no answer. All she knew was that this man was strong and gentle, and her will to resist was growing weaker. What if all they told her was true? That she could not escape Cinnebar. And what if Edward would not have her back? She had surely disobeyed him by involving herself in battle, as he had forbade her. Oh, God! I do not know what I am to do! What was the matter with her?

"I cannot give you pleasure," she whispered as she pulled away from his mouth.

"You already have," he told her softly.

"I do not know how to receive pleasure," she said desperately.

"I will teach you," he promised her. Then his mouth was hungrily seeking hers again, his tongue pushing past her lips to do battle with her senses.

Rhonwyn half sobbed, her resistance dissolving as her curiosity aroused itself. Perhaps her inability to know pleasure was Edward's fault. Their first mating had not been pleasant. But this man was different. Mayhap he could teach her to relish passion. She could not know ii she would not yield herself to him. And if she was not to return to Edward de Beaulieu, then what else was there for her but this life? As Nilak had told her, life at the top of the harem was better than at the bottom. She pulled away from him again. "Teach me, my lord caliph," she told him. "Teach me of passion!"

He took her face between his two hands and gazed directly into her emerald green eyes. His eyes, she noted for the first time, were a deep, deep blue, almost black. "My passion is a fierce thing, Noor,” he warned her, "and you are easily fearful and shy. I want you with every fiber of my being, but I want you to know great pleasure as well. I can see you know little of the delights between a man and a woman. 1 will show you all those sweet enjoyments, but you must know that 1 will not harm you or hurt you or give you pain in any of these pursuits. If you are afraid, you will not be abashed and unable to tell me. Our pleasure can be approached in a variety of ways, and all are equally delicious. Will you trust me, my beauty?"

She nodded, her heart hammering with anticipation. Why had not her husband ever said these things to her? For a moment she was angry at Edward, but then she realized that he probably knew as little as she did about passion, although as a man, he would assume he knew all.

The caliph began to kiss her face gently. Her lips. Each of her cheeks. The tip of her nose. Her closed eyelids. Her forehead. Then releasing her face from their soft grip, his hands began to caress her body, smoothing down her neck over her shoulders, sweeping along her long back to cup her buttocks in his hands. He fondled the twin moons, and some deep instinct made her arch her body. With a soft cry he covered her straining throat, her chest, and her small swollen breasts with kisses. He buried his lips in the hollow of her throat, growling low. "How you intoxicate me, my beautiful warrior woman,'' he said in his deep voice. Then he gathered her up into his arms again and deposited her upon his bed.

Rhonwyn felt her heart thudding rapidly as he stood looking down at her. She did not love this man. Indeed he almost frightened her with his dark intensity, but something deep within her wanted him to continue onward. It would end in the terrifying act of coupling, she knew, but she still wanted to know everything he had to teach her, wanted his lips on her, wanted his hands that roused such feelings of utter roiling confusion inside of her.

He stared down on her for a moment before coming to lay by her side. She could have no idea of how beautiful she was with her perfumed breath coming in little gasps from between her sweet ripe lips. She did not know how exquisite her body was, silently inviting, almost wanton in her unrealized need to be loved by him. He lay his dark head upon her breasts. "Your heart beats so swiftly," he said to her.

"I am afraid, yet not afraid," she told him.

"Remember, I will not harm you, my lovely Noor. I will only love you and give you joy."

"I trust you, my lord caliph," she said low.

He raised his head and leaned over to kiss her breast. Then his mouth closed over its nipple, and he suckled upon her.

She started nervously, but then she let herself enjoy the exciting sensation of his mouth and tongue upon her tender flesh. Her hand reached out to caress his dark hair. It was surprisingly soft to her touch and slightly curly. Her slender fingers entwined themselves in and out of the curls even as he began to worship her other breast in the same manner as the first. Edward had loved her breasts in this manner, too, but it had not seemed quite so exciting, more of a perfunctory thing. Or was it that this was so forbidden?

His hands and mouth began to roam over her quivering body as his tongue had earlier. His hunger was building, even if his instincts warned him to move slowly. Her belly was taut beneath his mouth; the insides of her thighs were as soft as the finest Cathay silk. Her own fragrance filled his nostrils. Unable to prevent himself from doing so, he kissed her mons, then slowly ran his tongue down the pouting slash that hid the gates to paradise and all of her most precious treasures.

Rhonwyn shuddered at the touch of his tongue that now began to probe at her innermost secrets. His fingers gently drew her nether lips apart, holding them in a firm grip as his tongue caressed the flesh within. She felt his tongue acutely, particularly when it touched a most sensitive part of her. The tongue worried and worried at her. She felt a building of sensation within. Edward had touched her there, but always with his finger. The caliph's tongue was far more exciting. Rhonwyn gasped as the first distinct feeling of pleasure swept over her. "Oh!" she cried, and shuddered hard. The tongue persisted, and she again was overwhelmed, crying out once more as she reveled in the sweetness that engulfed her.

"You see," his voice came to her through the mists, "you can feel pleasure, my beautiful Noor." 1 le slowly pushed two fingers into her love channel, drawing them slowly back and forth, arousing her so that she would be ready to receive him. Carefully he began to cover her body with his, and then it happened.

Rhonwyn's eyes opened, yet they were sightless. "No!" she cried out, her voice filled with utter terror. "No!"

He ceased in his actions, quickly taking her back into his arms although his manhood felt as if it were going to burst. "What is it, Noor? What is frightening you so? Tell me, my beauty. Tell me!"

"He is hurting her! Oh, please, stop! Don't hurt my mam!"

Her words astounded him, but Rashid al Ahmet knew that the mind was a powerful weapon that could be used for good or evil; that could hide secrets and affect behavior in the most ordinary people. "Who is hurting your mother, Noor?" he asked her in kindly tones.

"I do not know him, but his garb is rich. He has come to our cottage. Mam is very afraid, yet he will not let her be! He calls her a whore and forces her to couple with him. He is hurting her! He is hurting her! Go away! Go away! Mam says our father must not know what has happened. She is bleeding. Don't weep, Mam. Don't weep!" There were tears on Rhonwyn's face now. "Mam says I mustn't let any man do to me what he has done to her. I must fight them! I'll be a good girl, Mam. I'll be strong for us both. The prince will never know. Tis our secret, Mam. Our secret."

The caliph rocked her in his arms. No wonder she had not been able to feel any pleasure. His poor beautiful Noor, but now it would all change for her. "Who raped your mother, Noor?" he gently asked her. "You were very little, weren't you?"

Rhonwyn's eyes opened, and she shuddered hard. "I never knew who he was," she said. "Probably someone who knew my father and knew where our cottage was hidden. My mother never knew if the third child she carried was his or the prince's. My father loved her and would have killed any man who touched her. I think that is what frightened her. She always said there was greatness in ap Gruffydd, and it should not be denied. She would not have wanted to be the cause of his failure. I was just four when it happened, and my brother still at her breast."

"Do you understand now what she meant when she warned you not to allow any man to do to you what was done to her? She did not mean you should not enjoy mutual pleasures, Noor, only that you should not find yourself in her uniortunate position." He stroked her hair tenderly. "Poor lady. How she must have suffered, and what a terrible secret both you and she kept. Sleep now, my beautiful one. Later when you awaken, I shall make love to you as you should be loved."

She was puzzled. She could see his manhood was still stiff with his desire for her. Reaching out, she touched him, saying, "I will not be afraid now, my lord caliph."

"You will be less fearful when you have slept, my beauty," he advised her. "You have faced terrible demons just now. Sleep the residue of them away, and then I will take you to paradise as a reward for your bravery, sweet Noor." He kissed her forehead.

"I am no longer a child, my lord caliph," Rhonwyn told him. "I am a warrior woman, and now I have confronted that which has secretly terrified me all these years. I need no rest, but I do need your passion to prove to me that I have truly overcome my terrors." She held out her arms to him.

Rashid al Ahmet covered her body with his own. His manhood, rampant and hungry for her, slid easily into her love channel. He watched her face carefully, but there was no longer any fear in her eyes. It had been replaced by a budding wonder and eager anticipation of what was to come. She was wonderfully tight and hot. "You are indeed fearless, my beautiful warrior woman," he complimented her. Then he began to move upon her.

Rhonwyn closed her eyes, enjoying the incredible sensation of him as he pushed slowly within her. She could feel the throb of his manhood as it delved into her depths. She was acutely aware of every tiny sensation he elicited from her. When he began to thrust and withdraw, thrust and withdraw, Rhonwyn knew that her mother, who had loved ap Gruffydd so dearly, would have never denied her this marvelous sense of utter delight. She arched her body to match his rhythm, crying out as a tiny sharp pulse of pleasure began to envelop her, building until it crashed over her like a large wave, leaving her weak and satisfied, piercingly aware of his hot love juices that were discharged deep into her now well-plowed field.

When she was finally able to breathe normally again, she said shyly, "That was wonderful, my lord caliph!"

"Rashid," he said to her. "My name is Rashid, and I shall never let you go, my beautiful Noor. You are mine forever!"

She lay her golden head upon his smooth chest, strangely happy, and yet deep within her heart she whispered a single word: Edward! It was her husband, Edward de Beaulieu, she loved, and not this intense man. Yet it had been Rashid al Ahmet who had delved into her deepest secret and drawn it forth from the darkness in which she had kept it hidden all these years. Her husband, to whom she had been wed a year, had not been able to do that. Rashid al Ahmet, caliph of Cinnebar, into whose presence she had been brought as a prisoner only this morning and into whose bed she had been taken this night-it had been he who had touched her as no other man ever had. Why?

She had to admit that his passion was magical, and she had obviously pleased him greatly. If she continued in his favor, who knew to what heights she could reach in Cinnebar, but it was not what she wanted. She wanted to return to Edward and share herself with him as she had never been able to share herself before. She owed the caliph a great debt for that. Still, what her heart desired was impossible. But was it? Only time would tell, and in the meantime she would continue to share herself with the caliph. She sensed that she was just beginning to learn all that he had to teach her, and she realized that she was now a most eager pupil.

"What are you thinking?" he demanded raising her up so he might look into her beautiful face.

"I am thinking that you have much to teach me, my lord Rashid," Rhonwyn answered him honestly.

The caliph laughed aloud. "Aye," he said. "We have only just begun, my beautiful Noor. We have only just begun!"

Chapter 10

“Awaken, my child." Nilak's voice came to her through the mists.

Rhonwyn's eyes opened slowly, focusing upon her surroundings, at first confused as to where she was, but then remembering.

"Oh, Noor, how you have pleased the caliph! He left you to sleep and gave orders that you should not be disturbed until the sun was at the mid-heavens. The entire harem is talking. They cannot ever remember a time when he left a woman to sleep in his bed after he had taken his pleasure. Come, child, get up now. We must go to the baths and then to your new apartments, which are next to the lady Alias! You are very much in favor, and 'tis said the second and third wives are quite angry. The gossip is that you will be made his fourth wife, for he is besotted by you, fortunate girl!"

Rhonwyn tried to absorb all of Nilak's words. She stretched her limbs gingerly and felt a slight soreness between her thighs. He had coupled with her a second time last night, and it had been even better than their first encounter. She was confounded by it all, although he had carefully explained to her that the memory of her mother's rape, buried deep within her mind, had been the cause of her inability to enjoy passion. Now released from that terrible pain, she was free to let her passions take her where she would. His words had disturbed her deeply, and she again wondered why Edward had not been able to find the answer to the riddle of her unresponsiveness.

Nilak gently tugged on her arm. "My lady Noor, you must come with me now," she insisted.

"Yes, yes," Rhonwyn answered her, arising at last, but her attention was only partly focused on the older woman who was slipping a silken garment over her.

"They say he returned from his morning meal to watch you in sleep for a short time," Nilak said. "What did you do, child, to entrance the caliph so?" She led Rhonwyn from Rashid al Ahmet's apartments and down the hall into the women's quarters.

Rhonwyn was startled to note that slaves and harem women alike bowed to her politely as they passed by. By the rood, she thought, Nilak does not just babble uselessly. Rhonwyn's wits were beginning to sharpen once again. She had already divined from Nilak's chatter that to survive in this place she needed power. Power came from several sources. The caliph. The lady Alia. And Baba Haroun. She already had the caliph's favor, and she could probably keep it if she were clever. It was his first wife and the chief eunuch she needed to win to her side.

She had no quarrel with the lady Alia. Indeed, the caliph's wife had treated her with great kindness. She wondered how that lady would feel now with all the gossip regarding the caliph's infatuation. No matter, Rhonwyn told herself, I will be polite and quiet spoken toward her. As for Baba 1 laroun, he is obviously devoted to the lady Alia. He will never really trust any other woman who might threaten his mistress's position, Rhonwyn realized. Still, I will be respectful toward him and consider any advice he may give me. If he will not be my friend, at least I shall not have him as an enemy.

They entered the baths, and as Sarai hurried forward to greet the new favorite, a silence fell among the other women there. Sarai greeted Rhonwyn, and then taking her single garment from her, she personally took charge again of the bathing procedure. The other women began to chatter softly once more, but two who were seated together having their toenails pared stared hard at Rhonwyn.

"The one with the dark blond hair is Fatinah, the second wife," Nilak said softly. "The chestnut-haired woman is the third wife, Hasna. How they glare at you," she chuckled low. "Their jealousy is plain."

"Can they harm me?" Rhonwyn asked.

"They might try," Nilak said honestly.

"Will Baba Haroun protect me from them?"

Nilak nodded. "He will, but you must still be cautious, my lady Noor. We will choose your servants carefully."

"I want no one but you serving me," Rhonwyn replied. "Your fate is now tied to mine, and so I believe I can trust you, Nilak; but should you ever betray me, I will kill you with my own hands."

Nilak looked startled, but then she laughed. "You will have no cause to, my lady Noor. Being your confidante is a better position in my old age than caring for the children of harem women. I will never betray you. I swear it!"

They bathed together, and then when they had finished they entered the chamber where the women liked to gather afterward, drinking mint tea and gossiping. Rhonwyn saw the lady Alia surrounded by her women and immediately went to her. Kneeling before her, Rhonwyn placed her hands in those of the caliph's first wife, her head bowed. "I greet you, great lady," she said quietly.

Alia smiled wryly, but then she said to Nilak, "Tell the lady Noor that her gesture of respect shows me her good breeding. I hope she will soon learn our tongue so we may converse together. She remains in my favor, for she has touched our lord's heart, yet even knowing it, does not flaunt herself as others have in the past." Her gray-brown glance flickered briefly to where the second and third wives sat. "The lady Noor may sit by me and join me in a cup of tea."

Nilak carefully repeated the first wife's words. Her trembling voice could scarcely mask her excitement. She settled herself at Rhonwyn's feet, translating for the two women as they spoke. A tiny blue and white porcelain cup was placed in Rhonwyn's hand.

"You have pleased my husband greatly," Alia said. "Rashid is a good man, although he has little tolerance for fools."

"I did not know there was a kingdom here in the mountains behind Carthage," Rhonwyn said.

"Cinnebar has been here since the beginnings or time," Alia responded. "It has never been conquered because it is so remote. The wealth of our gold mines, while comfortable, is not so great that we attract undue attention. We also mine alabaster and peridot."

"You are not so distant that you escaped the sword of Islam," Rhonwyn remarked.

Alia laughed. "In the beginning Cinnebar worshiped various gods, as did most peoples. Then came a physician named Luke who converted our people to Christianity. Are you shocked, Noor? Yes, I can see you are, but many who were once Christians in this region converted to Islam when it came. Here in Cinnebar it happened several hundred years ago, when a princess from Baghdad married the ruler of Cinnebar. It was she who converted the people of Cinnebar. There are still Christians and Jews among us, and they are welcome as long as they obey our laws. We have never had any difficulties, as we respect each other's manner of worship. After all, Noor, we all worship the same one God. We all honor the ancient augurs. Abraham. Isaac. Moses. You Christians accept Jesus of Nazareth as the messiah. We in Islam believe he is a great prophet, although wc hold that Mohammed is the greater. Are these small differences a cause for warfare?" Alia asked Rhonwyn.

"Yet men war over them," Rhonwyn replied.

"They are foolish, aren't they?" Alia responded. She lowered her voice. "Men have not the inner strength of women, which is why God made women the bearers of new life." Her eyes twinkled.

Rhonwyn could not suppress a giggle. "How wise you are, my lady Alia," she said quietly. "I think I can learn much from you."

"We are going to be friends," Alia said. "I knew it when I first saw you, Noor. Ah, here is Baba Haroun."

"My lady Alia." He bowed. "I have come to escort the lady Noor to her apartments."

"I will come with you," Alia said, rising. "And she will need servants of her own."

"I want only Nilak," Rhonwyn said quickly as she stood.

"Lady," the chief eunuch protested, "you have become a favorite of the caliph. You cannot be served by just one woman."

"Why not?" Rhonwyn demanded.

"It is not proper," the eunuch said fussily. "You are the new favorite."

"I have been here but a day," Rhonwyn said. "Perhaps the caliph will decide be does not favor me."

Nilak was almost dizzy with all the translation involved.

"She is fearful of who to trust," Alia said to the chief eunuch. "I think she is very wise. Fatinah and Hasna have been glaring at her ever since she entered the baths, Baba Haroun. I want her well protected. Do you understand me? I like this girl. She will be no threat to me even if she falls in love with the caliph. This is the ally I have been seeking. I will give Noor two young slave girls from my own stall. They are well trained and trustworthy. Tell her, Nilak."

Nilak repealed Alias oiler to Rhonwyn, adding, "You cannot refuse her, my lady, else you say without words that you do not trust the caliph's first wife."

"I accept my lady Alias most gracious offer and thank her for her understanding," Rhonwyn said sweetly.

Nilak repeated Rhonwyn's honeyed reply.

Again Alia smiled wryly. Then she laughed. "You must teach her our tongue as quickly as she can learn, Nilak. I really do want to be able to speak with her. How can we two plot and plan if we cannot understand one another?"

Nilak chuckled and repeated what the caliph's first wife had said.

Rhonwyn burst out laughing. "Tell my lady Alia I shall endeavor to learn her language as quickly as possible."

A small smile touched the lips of the chief eunuch. He had had his doubts about the foreign warrior woman, but it was obvious that she had a generous spirit and a good heart. And his mistress, who had always been a very intuitive woman, liked her. "Come," Baba Haroun said, and he led the women from the gathering room in the baths to the lady Noor's new apartments. Flinging open the doors, he said, "Enter, my ladies."

The apartment was charming with its pale pink marble walls and painted ceilings. There were two medium-sized rooms and a small room where the serving women could sleep. Both of the larger chambers opened onto a small garden with a spectacular view of sky and mountains. It gave Rhonwyn the illusion of freedom, which it had been designed to do. There was a small bubbling pool in the garden and a fountain in the dayroom. The furnishings were rich with ebony and marble, silks and diaphanous gauzes, gold and silver, thick carpets, and colored glass lamps that burned fragrant oils. The cushions in the seating area were velvet and brocade. The bed in the bedchamber sat upon a gilded dais and was hung with green silk.

Rhonwyn found herself at a loss for words. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. Even Haven had nothing like this within its stone walls. She turned this way and that, admiring something new that caught her eye each time she thought she had seen it all. "It is lovely," she finally managed to say. She turned to Alia. "Thank you."

"I am glad you are pleased," the caliph's first wife said. Then her eye lit upon a tray of plump apricot halves. "Baba Haroun, what a lovely touch. They look delicious sitting in their honey glaze." She reached for a fruit, but the chief eunuch slapped her hand away.

"No, lady!" he cried out. "I did not order that these fruits be placed in the lady Noor's apartments." His black eyes grew opaque. "Would you take the lady Noor to your apartments, please, my lady Alia?"

Alia nodded. Her golden skin was suddenly pale.

"What is it?" Rhonwyn asked Nilak, confused.

"We are to go with Lady Alia," Nilak answered.

"Why?" Rhonwyn persisted.

"Baba Haroun did not order the apricots be brought to you. I believe he thinks they are poisoned," Nilak said quietly.

"Poisoned!" Rhonwyn was now pale herself. "Who would want to poison me? I have not been here long enough to make enemies."

"You have found favor with the caliph," Nilak replied. "That is enough to give you enemies, my child. Come now."

They followed Lady Alia to her apartments just down the corridor. Nilak told the caliph's first wife that she had explained the confusing situation to the lady Noor, who was understandably shocked.

"Do not be afraid, Noor," Alia said, putting an arm about Rhonwyn. "No harm will come to you. I will see to it."

Rhonwyn nodded, smiling weakly at Alia as Nilak translated.

"I shall now seek among my younger maidservants for two slave girls to serve you," the caliph's wife said. "And Nilak will, of course, remain your companion." She left Rhonwyn and Nilak, who were now sealed together in a quiet corner.

"Why is she so kind to me?" Rhonwyn asked.

"Because in you she sees an ally against Fatinah and Hasna," Nilak said frankly. "When the caliph took Fatinah as his second wife, Fatinah attempted to lord it over the lady Alia. It was a very foolish move, because the first wife always has precedence over the other wives and the concubines or any woman in the harem except possibly the lord's mother, but the caliph's mother died when he was a child. Fatinah bore the caliph a son, but by then he was tired of her vexatious behavior. Although it is not the lady Alias way to complain, Baba Haroun had kept the caliph fully informed of Fatinah's behavior. While our master was grateful for his second son, Omar, the boy's mother was no longer of any importance to him."

"And then he fell in love with Hasna?" Rhonwyn was curious.

"Hasna was the daughter of one of the former caliph's most faithful counselors. She was the child of his old age. When he was on his deathbed he begged our caliph to take Hasna as a wife. He had no other children, and Hasna's mother had died giving birth to her. Rashid al Ahmet agreed. At first Hasna was meek and respectful, but then Fatinah infected her with her venom and jealousy. Hasna gave birth to a daughter, and before she lost her husband's love, she had another daughter. These two creatures spend most of their time scheming to overthrow the lady Alia, for they are too stupid to see it cannot be done. Even if that good lady died a natural death, the caliph would not return them to his affections. Several months ago the caliph's eye lit upon a particularly lovely slave girl from the island of Sicily. His passions were engaged, but the girl died suddenly after nibbling on a dish of pistachio nuts that had been left in her chamber. No one knew from where the nuts had come, although one of Fatinah's servants had been seen by a harem woman near the dead girl's chamber during that fatal day. When questioned, however, the harem woman claimed she could not remember which servant or if, indeed, it had been one of Fatinah's women at all."

Rhonwyn laughed almost bitterly. "I am here against my will. I don't want to infatuate the caliph, but I have, and now these two women want to murder me for it. Would that I had never left England."

"It will be all right, my child," Nilak assured her.

"What will happen now?" Rhonwyn wanted to know.

"This time, I believe, Fatinah and Hasna have gone too far," Nilak said grimly.

And as if to give emphasis to her words, terrified shrieks were now heard coming from the main gathering room of the harem. Her expression grim, the Lady Alia rejoined Rhonwyn and Nilak. There was the sound of pounding footsteps, and the doors to the lady Alias apartments burst open to admit a very young and frightened slave girl. Behind her came Baba Haroun, the look on his face merciless. The girl flung herself at Alia's feet, sobbing and babbling.

"She is begging the lady for mercy," Nilak said softly. "She says she had to do what she was told by her mistress. That she herself would harm no one. She begs Lady Alia to spare her life."

The slave girl clutched at Alia's hem and pleaded as Nilak translated her words to Rhonwyn.

"Lady, gracious lady, spare me! I am the lowest of the low and could not refuse when my mistress commanded me!"

"Did you know the truit was poisoned?" Alia asked.

The slave girl shook her head in the negative.

"She lies!" snapped Baba Haroun. He grabbed the slave girl by her arm and shook her roughly. "The truth, you spawn of a she-camel!"

"I did not know! I did not know!" the girl insisted.

The chief eunuch slapped the slave girl brutally several times. "I shall whip the truth out of you, girl!" he roared.

"I did not know, "the girl sobbed brokenly.

"But did you suspect your mistress and her friend might want to harm the lady Noor?" Alia gently probed.

The slave girl nodded, adding, "But I am only a slave, my lady, and I could not be certain what they were doing. They did not do it in my sight, so how could I accuse them of perfidy?"

"You could have come to me," Alia said quietly.

"They would have killed me if I did," the slave girl half whispered.

"Now I will kill you," Baba Haroun said fiercely, and the hapless slave shrieked, wrapping her arms about Alia's legs.

"No, Baba Haroun," the caliph's first wife said. "The girl is correct, and only sought to survive. It is Fatinah and Hasna who must be punished severely for this attempt on Noor's life. And, I am certain, the murder of poor Guzel. Tell me, girl," she said softly, caressing the slave's head comfortingly, "what do you know of Guzel's death. Did you bring her the pistachio nuts?"

"Nay, lady, 'twas another. The lady Hasna's servant," the slave said low.

"Were the nuts poisoned?"

"So it was rumored among the others" was the reply.

"Take the apricots to Fatinah and Hasna, Baba Haroun. See that they eat them all," Lady Alia said in a soft voice. "I grow weary of their misbehavior."

"What of their children?" he asked.

"Omar is but four, and the girls three and two. We will raise them properly. Under our tutelage Omar shall become his brother's right hand instead of his nemesis, eh?"

"You are merciful, my lady," the chief eunuch said.

"Remove the children before the others," she advised.

"It shall be done, my lady" was the obedient answer.

"She is going to kill them?" Rhonwyn was surprised.

"Fatinah and Hasna have crossed the line," Nilak said. "You are new here, and so you do not know what they have done in their never-ending attempts to harm the lady Alia and her son, Mohammed. There are none here who will mourn their passing."

"What will the caliph say?" Rhonwyn wondered.

"What happens here in the harem is the province of the lady Alia and Baba Haroun. It is he who will explain to the caliph what happened. It is unlikely that the caliph will have any objection."

Rhonwyn suddenly saw the caliph's first wife in an entirely new light. Beautiful, obviously intelligent, and certainly kind, Alia was completely capable of being ruthless when she had to be. Rhonwyn shuddered.

"Are you chilled, my child?" Nilak asked anxiously.

"Nay," Rhonwyn said quietly.

"You are surprised that the lady Alia can be so unflinching, aren't you?" Nilak said. "She is royalty, Noor. Her father was a prince of Egypt. She knows how to rule and what must be done when necessary. She has never hesitated to do what she must and will protect the caliph and their son at whatever cost."

"What shall I do with this girl?" Baba Haroun asked his mistress.

"I shall take her into my own household," Alia said. "She is really a good girl who simply found herself with a bad mistress. Now go and do what must be done, Baba Haroun."

"As my lady commands," the chief eunuch said, bowing low and then backing from the chamber.

"Get up, girl, you are safe now," Alia said, pulling the slave girl to her feet. The slave kissed Alia's hands in gratitude. "What excitement! Let us have some mint tea and music to calm our nerves. Noor, come and sit by my side," the caliph's wife said.

Within minutes slave women appeared, bringing tiny cups of the sweetened mint tea and an engraved silver plate covered with stuffed dates and tiny crescent-shaped pastries filled with chopped nuts, raisins, and honey. A slave played upon a lute, singing softly. The air was suddenly fragrant with the scent of aloes. The tiled fountain in Alia's gathering chamber cooled the room in the afternoon heat. Rhonwyn ate the treats eagerly, as she had had nothing to eat since being awakened earlier.

"When it is sale you will go to your own apartment, Noor," Alia said. "I imagine you will want to rest before Rashid desires your presence tonight. He is a most passionate lover, isn't he?"

Rhonwyn blushed furiously at Alia's query.

The caliph s wife laughed and reached out to touch the younger woman's warm cheek gently. "How old are you?" she asked.

"Seventeen, I think," Rhonwyn answered:

"A married woman, and still so innocent until your night with Rashid," Alia teased. "When 1 was your age I had a three-year-old son. Do you want children, Noor?"

"I do not know," Rhonwyn said frankly.

"Our lord will give them to you, Noor, for his seed is potent," Alia replied. "I hope you will learn to love him. For all his manly strength he needs love to sustain him and make him stronger, as do all men, although certainly none of them will admit to it."

Suddenly from another part of the harem muffled screams were heard. Rhonwyn paled and looked to Nilak, but her translator was silent, her lips pressed together in a tight straight line. She glanced to the lady Alia, but the face of the caliph's wife was serene, as if she had not or could not hear the shrieks. Rhonwyn swallowed hard. Although she knew what was happening she had not imagined the executions of Fatinah and Hasna would be so public or so vocal. Neither of the two women could be very intuitive to have resisted the authority of the caliph's first wife. It was not a mistake Rhonwyn intended to make while she resided in Cinnebar. Alia's friendship was important to her survival, and Rhonwyn meant to keep it.

Suddenly Alia spoke and Nilak said, "It is over now, child. Do not look so stricken. They deserved their fate. The lady Alia is extraordinarily patient and has borne their unforgivable behavior for several years. Today's attempt upon your life was but the final straw to break the camel's back. The harem will be a better place now."

"I must accept your word for that," Rhonwyn said, and sipped her mint tea, which was now cool.

"You have been giving her the elixir?" Alia asked Nilak. "Until I can be certain of her character, I do not want her belly swelling with Rashid's offspring. Her exceptional beauty has captivated my husband. Will she use her power over him for good, or will she become like the others? I want to avoid another incident like today's."

"I have put the elixir in her tea each morning," Nilak answered. "As she does not speak our language there is no one to tell her of such things, my lady. I will do whatever you command me regarding this girl."

"I like her," Alia said. "I think I have read her correctly and that there is no malice in her. Right now, however, I know she longs for her husband and her homeland. Rashid's passion toward her will soon change that. With Fatinah and Hasna gone, he will take her for his wife, I am certain. Two wives for the caliph of Cinnebar are quite enough, don't you think? One seems rather paltry. Four is a bit ostentatious. Two is sensible, and just right. Noor is healthy and young. She will give our lord several children when the time is propitious. Begin tomorrow to teach her our language as I have previously commanded you. I long to speak with her directly, Nilak."

Baba Haroun reentered Alia's apartments. He went immediately to his mistress and bowed low. "It is done, lady. Shall I have their bodies set out for the wild dogs?"

"No," Alia said. "They were my lord's wives and the mothers of his children. Have them buried immediately in an unknown place. But first escort the lady Noor back to her apartments. She is sensitive and not quite used to our ways yet. She understands what happened had to happen, but her heart is gentle. She will need time to recover if she is to please our lord tonight, Baba Haroun. Unless she proves unworthy of my friendship, she has it. Do you understand me? This girl is not my enemy, nor do I expect her to be. Hasna and Fatinah were common creatures. Noor, like me, is the daughter of a prince."

"I understand, my lady Alia," the chief eunuch said, bowing again, and then he turned to Rhonwyn and bowed once more. "I will escort the lady Noor to her quarters," he said to Nilak.

Nilak gasped with her surprise. Never before had Baba Haroun bowed to any other woman in the harem but Alia. She imparted this information to her charge. Rhonwyn arose, and taking Alia's hands in hers, she kissed them. Then she followed the chief eunuch from the apartments of the caliph's wife without another word, Nilak scurrying in her wake.

When they were once again in Rhonwyn's chambers, Baba Haroun said to Nilak, "You will tell your mistress that I am her friend and mentor as long as she is true to the lady Alia. Should she ever betray my mistress, I will personally strangle her with my bare hands."

"You will tell the chief eunuch," Rhonwyn replied when Nilak had translated, "that I am a prince's daughter, and betrayal is not in my nature. I am grateful for lady Alia's friendship and the wise counsel she has provided me with. I will be grateful for the counsel and friendship of Baba Haroun as well."

The chief eunuch smiled slightly, then asked, "Are you truly reconciled to this life that it has been fated you will now lead, Noor?"

Rhonwyn shook her head. "Not yet," she told him.

"Your honesty is to be commended," Baba Haroun said. Then he bowed to her again and departed the chamber.

"Oh, fortunate girl!" Nilak cried. "How can you fail to succeed now with the aid of both the lady Alia and Baba Haroun? You must rest, for the caliph will desire your presence tonight surely."

"I am hungry," Rhonwyn complained. "I have had nothing but sweets since I awoke. I want a meal else I faint in the caliph's arms from starvation, Nilak. How will you explain that?"

"If you faint in the caliph's arms, Noor, he will think you are overcome with passion for him, which is to the good," Nilak teased.

"Chicken," Rhonwyn said firmly.

"I will go to the kitchens myself," Nilak said, and hurried from the chamber.

She had been gone but a few moments when two young slave girls entered the apartments and bowed to Rhonwyn.

"Halah," said one, pointing to herself.

"Sadirah," said the other, making the same gesture.

They then set about preparing a small table for Rhonwyn's meal, chattering to each other as they did so. Rhonwyn realized these were the two serving girls Alia had promised her. They looked harmless enough, although she knew everything she did would be reported back to the caliph's wife even as Nilak reported her words. She smiled to herself and sat next to the fountain in her gathering room. To her surprise it had several water lilies and four small golden fish who swam busily about, darting amid the lily pads. She sighed. Everything about her was so peaceful and beautiful. It was probably the most idyllic place in which she had ever been.

Rising, she walked out into her garden. The mountains beyond and below the edge of the terrace were a hazy blue. She suspected that on a clear day she might even sec the sea beyond. She needed to get to the sea. By the sea was Carthage-and the crusaders' encampment. How long now had she been gone from Edward. Six days? Seven? She had to find him again. She had to get back to him. What did he think happened to her? Would he have determined that the warrior who was captured was his wife? Had he looked for her? Would he indeed appear in Cinnebar, demanding her release? Oh, Edward, she thought sadly. What have I done? I love you! I love you! But will I ever see you again? She felt the tears coursing down her pale cheeks and struggled to regain control of herself. She looked up, startled at a touch on her shoulder.

Halah stood by her side, and the young slave girl pointed back inside. Then she made eating motions with her hands and mouth.

Rhonwyn nodded, giving the girl a weak smile. Brushing the evidence of tears from her cheeks, she arose and reentered her apartments where Nilak was busily setting out a meal with Sadi-rah's aid. Rhonwyn's nose twitched. There was indeed chicken, a small whole one stuffed with rice and raisins. There was a dish of cooked grain with bits of onion in it, flat bread, a honeycomb, and a bowl of fresh fruit. Bhonwyn sat down and began to eat eagerly, tearing the fowl in half and biting into it. "Delicious!" she pronounced, scooping up some of the stuffing with her fingers and popping it into her mouth.

"You eat like a ruffian," Nilak scolded. "Where are your manners, my child?"

"I'm hungry!" Rhonwyn protested. "I cannot even remember the last time I was fed. Do you mean to keep me half-starved all the time?"

"II you eat loo quickly, you will get pains," Nilak advised.

"I am thirsty," Rhonwyn replied.

Shaking her head in despair, Nilak poured fruit juice from a silver decanter into a silver goblet. "Drink slowly," she said. "Do you approve of the two slave girls Lady Alia has given you?"

"They seem pleasant and efficient," Rhonwyn remarked.

"They are. Tomorrow we will begin your lessons in Arabic, my child. Lady Alia is most anxious that you learn."

"I hope I have the facility for it," Rhonwyn said, "but then I learned the Norman tongue readily enough. My own language, Welsh, is difficult for outsiders to learn." Rhonwyn turned her attention again to her meal, eating almost everything that had been brought to her including a peach and a small bunch of grapes. When she had finished, her face and hands were bathed with scented water, and Halah cleaned her mouth and teeth.

"Now," Nilak said, "you must rest."

Rhonwyn did not argue. Her belly was comfortably full now, and it was hot. There was not even the slightest breeze stirring. Sadirah took her garments from her, and Nilak brushed her long gilt-colored hair. Rhonwyn was then content to lay naked upon the beautiful bed with its green silk gauze hangings, and was quickly asleep, her dark lashes brushing like small butterflies against her fair cheek.

"She is so beautiful," Halah said softly.

"They say the caliph fell in love with her at first sight," Sadirah murmured low.

"Do not be ridiculous," Nilak scolded them. "When the caliph first saw her she was garbed in men's clothing. I know, for I helped remove them. She was dirty and smelled like a stable."

"The gossip in Lady Alia's apartments is that he will make the lady Noor his wife now that Fatinah and Hasna are gone," Sadirah said. "That would mean our new mistress would be the second wife."

"If that is indeed so," Nilak replied, "then you have Lady Alia to thank for raising you up. You were merely two among many unimportant slave girls in her service. Now you are the serving women of the caliph's new favorite, who may possibly become his wife."

"She will be a wife. I am certain of it," Halah said. "We are fortunate. She would appear to be a kind lady like Lady Alia."

"She is," Nilak assured them, "There is no meanness in her."

The three women went about the business of removing all evidence of Rhonwyn's meal and neatening up the apartment. The afternoon slipped into evening. Eventually Nilak sent the two younger servants to bed, but she remained watching by her mistress's bed. She was not surprised when the caliph entered the bedchamber, garbed only in a loose white robe. Arising from Rhonwyn's side, she bowed silently to him and departed the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Rashid al Ahmet looked down upon the woman he called Noor, and his heart contracted in his chest. She had been in his possession two days, and while he certainly lusted after her, there was something more in his heart. He liked the contradictions of her. The fierceness and the vulnerability. He would never, he sensed, have all of her. There would always be a tiny something she would withhold from him, and therein lay the challenge. He removed his garment and lay down next to her. She was in a very deep sleep, and he was not surprised, considering all that had happened to her in the last week.

She had been on her side, but he gently drew her onto her back so he might look fully on her. His fingertips caressed her breasts, and she murmured contentedly. He smiled. Last night he had only begun to plumb the depths of her passions. He drew the back of his hand across her torso then, bending, began to kiss her lips with deep, hungry kisses.

Rhonwyn sighed and stretched lazily. The lips on hers were warm, and they grew more demanding with each passing moment. She faintly protested this intrusion into her sleep, but then she felt his lingers seeking between her nether lips. Two of the fingers pushed easily into her love channel while the ball of his thumb began to tease at the badge of her sex. His kisses were bruising her lips, but she didn't want him to stop. Her arms slipped up to embrace him. His thumb played with her until the tension was almost painful. She shuddered as it broke, but rather than stopping he began anew, arousing her again and this time to a greater height than before. Rhonwyn was now fully awake.

"Look at me, you adorable little bitch," he growled against her kiss-swollen mouth.

Rhonwyn's emerald green eyes opened and looked directly into those of Rashid al Ahmet. "As my lord wills," she said softly.

The two fingers thrust deep, and she cried out with undisguised pleasure. His white teeth flashed a smile against his sun-darkened skin. "Are you beginning to know passion?" he said provocatively. His thumb worried at her throbbing jewel.

"Yesss," she hissed, panting. "Oh, please!"

"Please what?" His tongue licked at her nipples.

"Please!" she repeated.

"Tell me what you want, my beauteous Noor," he replied.

"You!" she half sobbed.

He laughed low, and then rolling onto his back, he lifted her up, lowering her slowly on his raging manhood. When she was settled he reached up and began to fondle her breasts.

Rhonwyn was astounded. His manhood was deep inside her. She felt its length, hot and throbbing, yet it was she who would appear to be the dominant. Her eyes widened.

"Ride me, my adorable Noor. I am your stallion," Rashid al Ahmet told her. "Surely you are not afraid?"

She moved hesitantly at first, and then at his smile of open encouragement she began to move more surely upon him as he gently drew her forward, his hands slipping about to cup her buttocks.

"That's it, my beauty," he said. "Brace your hands, Noor. That's right, my precious. Ah! What pleasure you give me!"

Rhonwyn had found the proper rhythm now, and she rode the caliph enthusiastically for some minutes until he gently turned her onto her back, delving deeper into her softness, watching the change in expression on her lovely face, amazed when they attained nirvana together, crying out with utter satisfaction.

After some minutes Rashid al Ahmet laughed aloud. "What a woman you are becoming, my lovely Noor," he said.

Rhonwyn could feel that her cheeks were hot. She had been so wickedly bold, and she had liked it. "I never knew you could…"

"You are going to be astounded at what we can and will do together, my adorable one," he said, his deep laughter rumbling up again from his chest. "You are, I am pleased to note, an eager pupil." Leaning over, he kissed her again, running a finger along her bruised lips. "Do you like your apartments?"

"Aye, I do. Especially the garden with its sweeping views of the mountains, my lord."

"Good!" he said. "Are you hungry? I am. I have not eaten since morning."

"I shall have my servants bring you food, my lord Rashid," Rhonwyn said, arising from her bed. "And while we eat, will you tell me of your day?"

His dark blue eyes grew warm with approval. The whole palace was gossiping that he intended to make Noor his wife, but until this moment he had not decided the matter. It was a foolish man who thought only with his cock. Her newly unleashed passion was commendable, but it was her care for his welfare and her interest in his doings that brought about his final decision. He would indeed make Noor his wife. Like Alia, she was a nurturing creature, quite unlike the two who had been disposed of this day. And two wives, he thought, was more than enough for any man, even a caliph of Cinnebar. Tomorrow he would speak with the imam. "Aye, Noor," he said to her. "I will indeed share my day with you as we eat."

Chapter 11

“Well, Edward de Beaulieu," Prince Edward said, "do you think you are strong enough to continue on, or will you return to England? You have been very ill, and I will not count it against you, particularly under the circumstances."

"I will go on with you, my liege" came the answer, "but first I must seek my wife and Sir Fulk. They are surely being held captive nearby and can be ransomed."

"Perhaps," the prince responded, "but I wonder if that is so, for we have received no ransom demand, nor have we been attacked since that day when your wife so bravely led our men. What a woman! I should like to see her and her companion, Sir Fulk, safely returned."

"I will follow you in seven days' time, my lord, if I cannot find Rhonwyn. But I know that 1 will," de Beaulieu said tersely. The prince's remarks about his wife's courage were somehow irritating.

"I will pray God that you do, my friend, but if in seven days' time you have found no trace of her, then you must give up your search. She will have been either sold into slavery in some nameless place or ravaged and killed. I am very concerned that a week has gone by and we have had no word, but you must search, else you and your honor not be satisfied, I know. I surely would not be. You know the road to Acre." The prince patted Edward de Beau-lieu's shoulder.

"I have one favor to ask of you, my liege. Will your good wife take Rhonwyn's maidservant into her train until I find Rhonwyn? I cannot keep Enit safe among all these men, and she is a good lass, betrothed to one of my own people."

"Of course," Prince Edward said. "Have her gather her possessions, and I will escort her to Eleanor myself."

Enit began to weep when she was told of her fate. "Please, my lord, let me stay with you and wait for my mistress to return."

"Nay, Enit, it is not safe," de Beaulieu told her. "You will be reunited with your mistress in Acre, but in the meanwhile I know you will be secure with the princess's train. My search may be dangerous, and 1 cannot have you about to worry over. Now fetch your things and go with Prince Edward."

"Yes, my lord." Enit sniffled, but she did his bidding, gathering up her lew possessions and following forlornly after Prince Edward as be departed de Beaulieu's tent.

"There is one less worry,” Edward muttered almost to himself. He was still feeling weak, but at least he was on his feet again. In the morning he would take his two knights, and they would seek Rhonwyn and Sir Fulk. Rhonwyn. His wild Welsh wife. He didn't know whether he would kill her or kiss her when he found her. And Fulk! Where was his common sense that he allowed his lord's wife to run off into battle and then get them captured? To his credit Fulk had at least followed after Rhonwyn.

De Beaulieu understood that Rhonwyn was different from other women by virtue of her upbringing, but he had never liked it. He could even understand her desire to bloody her sword for the first time in a real combat, although most women he had known would have fainted at the mere thought of such a thing. Her mistake had been in becoming overconfident. Her passion for the battle should not have outweighed her caution, but it had, allowing her to be surrounded and then captured. But why had they taken her off and not simply killed her? He needed to know more than he already did. He called Sir Hugo into his presence and asked him to seek out someone who had been in the heat of the battle. Sir Hugo returned with a rather grizzled and gruff knight, Sir Arthur Sackville.

"I had heard it was a woman," Sir Arthur said, shaking his head with disbelief. "But I could not quite fathom such a thing. Your wife, you say?"

"Aye," Edward answered. "She is the daughter of ap Gruffydd, the prince of the Welsh."

"Magnificent creature!" Sir Arthur enthused admiringly. "She raced into the very center of it all, rallying us furiously! For the first time I felt our crusade was a truly holy and blessed thing, my lord. It was as if the angels were on her side."

"Did you see her capture? Why did they take her instead of simply killing her?" de Beaulieu pressed.

"They didn't really. She had just killed the nobleman who led the infidels. I think it was in coming to his defense they found themselves surrounding your wife, although they certainly did not realize they had a woman. But they raced off with her in their midst. A single knight galloped after them, but I do not know his name."

"Sir Fulk," Edward said. "He was my man and should not have allowed Rhonwyn into battle, although even I know it would have been difficult to stop her once her mind was set on it. Who was the man she killed?"

"I have no idea, my lord de Beaulieu. One of their nobles by his garb. I am sorry I can help you no further," Sir Arthur said.

"Can you tell me in which direction they went?" Edward asked.

"Toward the mountains," the knight said. "Of that I am absolutely certain. They rode to the mountains, although why I do not understand. There is nothing out there, you know."

"There must be something, else why would they have gone that way?" Edward replied.

"Nomads and their flocks, perhaps, but nothing else." Sir Arthur paused as if considering his next words. Then he said, "My lord de Beaulieu, while the infidels could not have known at first that the knight who battled them so fiercely was a woman, they would have eventually found her out. They have surely ravaged her and killed her by now. Yours is a tragic loss, I realize, but you will have to accept it sooner or later, I fear. And if by some miracle your lady survived, would you want her back after other men had used her? Forgive me, de Beaulieu, for saying it, but she is lost to you. God help her, she is gone." He bowed to Edward. "I am sorry I could be of no real help to you." Then he exited the tent.

"Be ready to ride at moonrise," Edward said quietly to his two knights. "See to the horses and water now."

"He's mad," Sir Hugo later said as he and the other knight did their lord's bidding. "Sir Arthur is probably correct, and the lady is dead or worse."

"You knew her." Sir Robert responded. "If she were your wife, would you not at least attempt to find her? I know I would."

It was alter midnight when the waning moon rose and they departed the crusaders' encampment. They rode toward the mountains, dark shadowed mounds upon the horizon. Above them in the clear black sky the stars twinkled in lonely splendor. Their journey ceased when the sun became too hot for travel. Then they would water the horses from the supply they carried and shelter in the gray shadow of the rocks. For four days they rode, but they saw nothing. No tents. No livestock. No people. Everything about them was wilderness. There was absolutely no sign of any civilization, even in the foothills of the mountains. Not a trace of human habitation was visible. It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed Rhonwyn.

Edward's heart grew heavier with each passing day. He finally accepted what everyone had been telling him. Rhonwyn was gone. His beautiful wild Welsh wife was lost to him. He would never see her again. Giving the word to his two grateful knights, he turned their horses back to the sea, directing their steps toward the Acre road so they might join Prince Edward and his crusaders. On the first night of their return journey as his two knights slept, Edward hid himself among the rocks and wept for the woman he believed he loved. But in the days that followed, his heart hardened toward her. Everything that had happened was her fault. She had avoided her marital duties and given him no heir. Then she had insisted upon coming on crusade when a responsible woman would have remained at Haven, praying for his safe return and doing her duty as his chatelaine. It was one thing for a queen or a princess to come on crusade, but the wife of a simple lord had no business being in the midst of such an adventure.

His thoughts began to stray to his cousin Katherine. He would need a wife when he returned home to England. His cousin's family had always hoped he would marry Katherine, and now he would. She was fair enough and obedient to boot. There would be no nonsense over his possession of her body, and Katherine would gladly give him heirs as quicldy as his seed took root. Aye, Katherine would be the perfect wife for him. Arriving in Acre, he hired a scribe and dictated a letter to his cousin Rafe.

Rafe de Beaulieu was surprised when in the spring of the next year he received his cousin's missive from Acre. "You are to be married!" he told his sister. "The Welsh wife has died, although I should not have thought a healthy girl like that would succumb easily, but she has! Edward wants you for his wife. When he returns home you will be wed, sister. This is just what the family has always wanted, Kate!" And yet while pleased for Kate, he grieved secretly for the beautiful Rhonwyn. If she had been his he would have kept her safe.

"We must pray for the lady Rhonwyn's soul," Katherine said quietly. "I liked her, for she was as good as she was beautiful. All the servants have told me that."

"Pray for her then, sister," Rafe said, and seeing her stricken look, continued, "I am rough spoken, Kate, and well you know it. Forgive me. In my happiness over your good fortune I did not consider the misfortune of the lady Rhonwyn. She was beautiful, and we had no quarrel with her. I will pray for her also."

It was Father John who brought Glynn the news of his sister's demise. The boy was, as was expected, devastated by the news. "Do you want to go home to Wales?" the priest asked him. "To your father?"

Glynn swallowed hard. "Nay," he said. "Rhonwyn wanted me to be educated, and I will not disappoint her, good father. I will remain in school. I thank you for coming to tell me, for had I learned of this at Haven on my next visit, I should have given everything away in my grief. How did my sister die?"

"Edward did not say. I expect it was too painful for him," the priest replied. "We will learn the truth when he returns home to Haven, but not until then I fear."

"I do not sense my sister dead," Glynn said thoughtfully. "I would have thought if she had died I should have known, we were that close, good father."

"Do not allow your Celtic mysticism to overcome your Christian sense, my lad," the priest warned him as he turned to depart.

Glynn murmured as if in agreement, but in his heart he did not acquiesce to the priest's words. Until he learned from his brother-in-law exactly how his sister had died-that Edward had seen it himself-Glynn could not believe that Rhonwyn was gone from this earth into the next. Not his sister. She had too strong a will to die young.

Alone in his dormitory Glynn began to play upon his lute, composing as he did so another ballad about a warrior woman called Rhonwyn, and he suddenly felt a sense of great comfort sweeping over him. She is not dead! he thought. But what has happened to her? It was then the thought entered his mind. He would go to Acre himself and find Edward. Then having learned the truth, he would find Rhonwyn.

Glynn ap Llywelyn went into the town several days later to seek out Oth and Dewi. His two guardians had been sent back from Wales by his father when Glynn entered the abbey school. In order to maintain themselves they hired out as men-at-arms for local folk traveling the countryside, but their base was in Shrewsbury, to which they always returned. They boarded with an elderly widow who felt safer by their frequent presence. Glynn made his way through the town's narrow streets to the widow's house by the river.

"Good morrow, Mistress Ellen," he greeted her cheerfully. "Can you tell me if Oth and Dewi are in town today?"

"Just back yesterday, young master. They are working my garden for me," the old lady replied. "Go along through."

"Jesu, lad," Oth said, catching sight of Glynn, "you seem to grow bigger each day. What is it the good brothers feed you?"

The two Welshmen embraced Glynn.

"Father John has been to see me," Glynn said without any preamble. "He has had a letter from Edward saying that Rhonwyn has died."

"I don't believe it!" Oth burst out.

"Nor I," Dewi agreed.

Glynn smiled with relief. "Good, because I do not feel the loss of my sister's presence at all," he told the two. "Edward must believe such a thing or he would not say it, but until I learn for myself just what happened, I cannot accept that Rhonwyn is gone from us. I mean to go to Acre where the crusade is now settled. Will you two come with me?"

"Aye," they answered with one voice.

"Good," Glynn replied. "Now, I have considered this carefully. Neither Rafe de Beaulieu or his sister know my true identity. They will wonder if I do not come to Haven, and they will worry, for I am believed to be Edward's bastard. I shall visit them shortly and tell them that because I am considering the priesthood, I am being sent to one of the order's other schools in France for a year. As for the father abbott, you two shall come to him in three days' time, for he knows my true identity, and you will tell him that my father, ap Gruffydd, desires me to join him for several months, and you have been sent to escort me to him. We will then go to Haven and from there to the Holy Land."

"What of Father John?" Oth asked. "Will he believe your little tale of school in France? He is no fool, lad."

"I will tell him the truth," Glynn said. "He cannot betray me lest he betray Edward's subterfuge to his kin. I do not believe he will do that."

Oth looked at the boy who was now sixteen and practically a man. He would not have expected such a daring plan from the gentle Glynn, but it was obvious that the lad meant to seek his sister out no matter what anyone else said. "What are we to do for traveling funds?" he asked in a pragmatic tone. "Dewi and I have some coins put aside, but we'll need more than what we have."

"I have my allowance," Glynn said. "I've never spent it but for strings for my musical instruments. I have almost everything Edward gave me last year, and I will ask Rafe de Beaulieu for more since I am going to France." He chuckled. "And if we run out of funds, I shall sing for our supper."

"Well, then," said Oth, "there is nought to keep us from our travels, Glynn ap Llywelyn. We shall come for you in three days' time."

And when they did the father was most sympathetic. "Of course Prince Llywelyn would want his son with him under the tragic circumstances," he said. Father John had told him of Rhonwyn's demise. "We have been praying for the lady's good soul ever since we learned the terrible news." He turned to Glynn. "We shall eagerly await your return, Glynn ap Llywelyn. Go now and comfort your father."

"You're a true Welshman," Oth said approvingly as they rode through the city gates. "You played your part well and never once looked guilty over the lies we told that good priest."

Glynn merely grinned at his companion.

At Haven Gastle the boy appeared alone and told his tale to Rafe de Beaulieu and his sister. Father John lifted a questioning eyebrow but said nothing.

"So you are considering being a priest," Rafe said enthusiastically.

"Why should this make you happy?" Glynn said.

"Because you are my cousin Edward's get. He will wed my sister, Katherine, when he returns from crusade. While you are a bastard, if Edward should die, you might attempt to usurp my sister's children from their rightful inheritance. As a priest I can trust you and your intentions, Glynn of Thorley."

Glynn felt a terrible fury welling up within him. Rhonwyn was barely dead, according to Edward, and he was already planning a new marriage. I will kill him, Glynn vowed silently to himself, and then he caught Father John's eye. He swallowed his anger back down, but it still burned within him as he said, "Your devotion to your sister is commendable, Rafe."

"What is this all about?" the priest demanded of Glynn when they were finally alone.

"I do not believe my sister is dead," Glynn replied. "You scoff at my Celtic mysticism, but there has always been a bond between my sister and me. It is not that I am grieving or unable to accept the truth in this matter. If Rhonwyn were dead, I should feel it. I do not, and if I do not, she must be alive. I am going to the Holy Land to find her and to find out from my treacherous brother-in-law what has happened to her. How quickly he plans his remarriage."

The priest sighed. "I see I cannot dissuade you, Glynn," he said. "May I assume Oth and Dewi are nearby?"

"They are and will be my companions in this adventure." The boy's eyes twinkled. "You must see that Rafe de Beaulieu gives me a fat purse for my journey to France and my year's stay there."

"What did you tell the abbott?" the priest demanded.

"That my father had called me back to Wales," Glynn replied. "It seemed a plausible explanation."

"Aye," the priest said. "If you must lie, 'tis best to keep it simple." He sighed again, then advised, "Go to Dover, Glynn. There are still ships sailing for the Holy Land with men who wish to join Prince Edward. A young minstrel and two men-at-arms will easily find passage on one of these vessels. This is a good time of year to go, as the seas will be calmer than in winter."

"You will pray for us, father, will you not?"

"I will pray hard for you, Glynn ap Llywelyn. You go, I fear, on a fool's errand, but if it will satisfy your heart and soul to make this journey, then I cannot deny you. If Edward de Beaulieu says your sister is dead, God assoil her good soul, then surely she must be, for what reason would he have to lie? He cared for the lady Rhonwyn."

Glynn shook his head. "Like you, I am puzzled, but I also know in my heart that my sister lives. Why Edward believes her dead I cannot say, but I go to learn the truth of the matter."

"I will see you well funded," the priest promised.

The monies were handed over, and Glynn departed Haven Castle the following day, a fat purse well hidden on his person and Father John's blessing ringing in his ears. Joining Oth and Dewi down the road, he turned to look back and wondered if he would ever see Haven again. While startling, the feeling did not distress him. His goal was to find Rhonwyn, and in that he would not be deterred. He bad grown not just physically but intellectually during his time at the abbey school. While he still preferred music and poetry to armaments and fighting, he had found he was capable of being tough and hard when he must be so.

They spent the next few days riding across England to Dover. There, as the priest had told them, were vessels preparing to depart for the Holy Land and Prince Edward's crusade. They took passage on a sturdy ship with a Welsh captain who, looking at Oth, claimed kinship with him through a female relation and welcomed them aboard. After three days at sea the captain and Oth had traced their family connection to the sister of Oth's grandsire, who had been the captain's grandmam. Oth explained to his kinsman that Glynn was also their kinsman and a minstrel going to the Holy Land to entertain the soldiers. During the seven weeks of their voyage Glynn entertained the captain and the crew with his ballads, his sweet voice rising above the roar of the sea.

Once into the Mediterranean the days and the nights grew warmer and then hot. Their vessel stopped at several ports to unload and take on cargo, food, and water. Finally they reached Acre, an ancient city reputed to have the finest port on the Mediterranean. Once Acre had belonged to the Syrians, but in the seventh century it had been captured by the Arabs. It had changed hands several times during the early crusades, but was now firmly in the hands of the Knights Hospitalers who had held it for almost a hundred years as part of the kingdom of Jerusalem.

Glynn, Oth, and Dewi disembarked their ship and quickly found themselves in the crowded, noisy, and dusty streets of the city. Their ship's captain had directed them to a small inn where they would not be cheated or robbed if they were careful. Reaching the inn, they were relieved to find the innkeeper, a large buxom woman of indeterminate age, spoke the Norman tongue.

"I am Glynn of Thorley, minstrel extraordinaire and sent to you by Captain Rhys, mistress. These two are my bodyguards, who are quite capable of keeping the peace within your inn on the best of nights or the worst," Glynn told her with an elegant bow.

"You are seeking employment?" she asked them, her hands upon her ample hips.

"We seek temporary shelter, mistress," Glynn said, "but we are willing to work for it and for our supper."

"Why temporary?" the innkeeper demanded of him, licking her lips provocatively as she looked at Oth.

Oth winked at her.

"I have come to Acre seeking my good overlord, Edward de Beaulieu, who is with Prince Edward," Glynn answered. "If he is in Acre, I will find him, and if he is not, I may at least learn where he is, mistress."

"I can accommodate you," the innkeeper said. "You may have your days free, but your nights you must give to me… to entertaining my customers, I mean. And your men will be at my beck and call in the evenings as well. Is it agreed?" For the first time she looked directly at Glynn, surprised at his youth.

"It is agreed, mistress," he said with a smile. He thought her a pretty woman with skin as white as milk and black, black hair.

"My name is Nada," the innkeeper said. "It means giving in the language of the Arabs, and I am known to be a most generous woman." Her gaze was again on Oth. "Do your companions have names, young minstrel?"

"They are Oth and Dewi," Glynn responded with a gesture toward the two men.

"There is a nice room behind the kitchens," Mistress Nada said. "Come, and I will show you. Then, perhaps, you would like to have a decent meal, for from the look of you, you haven't had good food in over a month. I like my men with more meat on their bones."

"The better to eat you alive," Dewi murmured to his companions in their own tongue. "You're a lucky dog, Oth. She looks like she'll prove a right lusty fuck!"

"I'll see if she has a sister," Oth returned softly.

The inn, in a whitewashed dried mud building, had a hard-packed dirt floor. Inside it was cool and dim. The wooden tables were well scrubbed, their benches tucked neatly beneath them. They followed the innkeeper through the main room of her establishment into a bright kitchen at the rear of the building. From the rafters there bung sheaves of dried herbs and fruits. Pots boiled merrily over the fire. From the ovens came the delicious smell of baking. The three women servants glanced briefly at them, then returned to their chores. The men could see a courtyard beyond the kitchen through its narrow windows.

"Your room is through there." She pointed. "It has a door to the courtyard. It is clean and dry, I promise you."

Glynn stepped into the chamber, followed by Dewi. Oth, however, remained in the kitchen with the innkeeper. He backed the woman up into a wall alcove and fumbled her ample breasts. Nada smiled broadly, showing strong white teeth, and rubbed herself against him in a decidedly suggestive manner.

"There is no time now," she said, "and besides, you will need a good meal first so you may be filled with strength. What does Oth mean?" Her hand slipped into his breeches, and she fondled him, her black eyes widening as she felt him hard and large in her palm. "Leave us," she called to her three servants, who immediately obeyed.

"Giant," he said meaningfully. "Dewi will keep the boy away." Then he turned her about, pushing her down over her kitchen table even as his hands were raising up her skirts so he might have access to her. His manhood found her love channel easily, and Oth thrust himself into the woman with a groan, working himself back and forth as she eagerly pushed her plump rump into his groin.

"Ah, that's good, you devil!" she moaned. "Don't stop!"

He pleasured her for several minutes, and then said, "Sorry, lass, but 'tis just a taster I can give you now. Yer right. I do need my dinner." Then he emptied his seed into her with a lusty sigh.

Nada let out a long hiss of breath, collapsing slightly upon her table. As Oth withdrew from her she slowly straightened herself up and turned about to face him. "My rooms are on the other side of the courtyard," she told him, pulling her skirts down and giving him a quick kiss. "I can use a lusty lover… temporarily." Then she left the kitchen.

"I thought a man rode atop the woman," Glynn said as he and Dewi came forth from the chamber.

"Not always," Oth replied. "Have you had a woman yet, lad?"

Glynn nodded. "In Shrewsbury there's a girl who spreads her legs for a ha'penny. My friends at the school took me. I've been twice."

"And you liked it?" Oth questioned Glynn.

"Aye, 'tis why I went again," the young man replied.

The two older men laughed. "Well, in that you are your father's son," they told him.

Then Oth said, "Since you've made a beginning of it, we'll teach you what you need to know, young Glynn. Acre is as good a place as any for a young fellow to sow his wild oats."

"But first I must find Edward," Glynn said, all business again.

"We'll find him," Oth promised.

And they did, although it took almost a full week. During the hot days they sought out de Beaulieu, while in the evenings Glynn's sweet voice filled Mistress Nada's inn and poured out into the streets. Word of the young minstrel spread quickly, and the inn was packed with men of all lands listening to Glynn as he sang ballads old and familiar and some that he had himself composed. The inn's guests quickly found a new favorite in "The Warrior Woman," which Glynn had composed about his sister. The serving maids had taken to practically tiptoeing when Glynn was entertaining. They had also taken to coming into his chamber at night to pleasure both him and Dewi while Oth was with Mistress Nada.

"The woman's insatiable," Oth complained to Glynn and Dewi the day they found Edward de Beaulieu.

Edward immediately recognized Oth and Dewi, but at first he did not recognize their companion. Glynn was no longer a young boy but a man. "What," he demanded, very surprised, "are you doing here?"

"Where is my sister?" Glynn demanded.

"She is dead of her own foolishness," Edward replied bitterly. "Come, sit down out of the sun, Glynn. How did you leave Haven?"

"Haven stands as it did the day you departed it with my sister. Your cousin Rafe and your bride-to-be, Katherine, eagerly await your return," Glynn said rancorously. "Tell me of my sister. How did she die? Were you not there?"

"We were at Carthage," Edward began, signaling his servants to bring cool wine for his guests. "I was ill with fever and a terrible flux of the belly and bowels. Rhonwyn nursed me devotedly, only allowing Enit to sit with me a few hours each night so she might sleep. All around us men were dying like flies, but Rhonwyn moved our tent away from the others and kept it and me scrupulously clean. I owed her a debt for saving my life. King Louis died, and Charles of Anjou made peace with the infidels. Prince Edward would not have it and made plans to move on to Acre.

"Rhonwyn had been penned up with me for weeks. I suggested she go with Sir Fulk to play at sword practice. I saw she was well garbed for it, though she argued with me because of the heat, but then, properly dressed, she and Fulk went off to the practice field. Shortly after, the infidels began one of their little attacks on the encampment. It was routine. They did it each day. It was never more than a skirmish, and nought ever came of it. There were rarely any injuries and certainly no casualties.

"Rhonwyn obviously decided to bloody her sword in real combat, and Fulk, it appears, went with her. Her headpiece ensured that no one knew she was a woman. They say she rallied the soldiers magnificently. It became a serious battle, and the infidel was beaten back. Unfortunately Rhonwyn got cut off from the main body of soldiers. She was captured, and Fulk, riding after her, was taken, too. I spent four days with Sir Hugo and Sir Robert seeking any trace of her. There was none. It is the opinion of those who know about such things that she was probably found out, then raped and murdered. She might have been sold into slavery somewhere, but that, it seems, is unlikely, for she was not a virgin," Edward de Beaulieu finished.

"My sister is not dead," Glynn ap Llywelyn said. "If she were, I should sense it in my heart."

"Glynn, I am sorry," Edward said, reaching out to the young man whom he genuinely liked.

"She is not dead!" Glynn shouted. "And I will find her, Edward."

"If you find any trace of her, it will be nought but her bones. I have prayed for her each day since she was lost to me," Edward said angrily.

"You have prayed tor her while seeking another bride," Glynn replied furiously. "And Rafe de Beaulieu lords it over Haven, even as his sister waits meekly for your return!"

"Rhonwyn should have waited meekly for my return," Edward said.

"If you had wanted Rhonwyn to await your return, then you should have forbidden her to accompany you, Edward. I think it pleased your vanity to have her with you as the lady Eleanor was with Prince Edward. It was my sister, I know, who first expressed enthusiasm for the crusade, and not you. Rhonwyn, ap Gruffydd's daughter, made the king's son look favorably upon you, and Edward Plantagenet will be England's king far sooner than later, we all know," Glynn said with devastating veracity.

"Am I to be condemned then by you, a mere singer of ballads, a Welsh outlaw's bastard get, for considering the future of my family?" Edward de Beaulieu demanded. He would not be made to feel guilty!

Glynn smiled scornfully. "When I find my sister, I shall tell her the kind of man she is wed to, although I already suspect Rhonwyn knew, for even I could see you were not a well-matched pair. Had you been, perhaps you might have mourned my sister's loss instead of hurrying to make a match with your cousin Katherine."

"Your sister was a coldhearted bitch," Edward declared heatedly. "She would scarcely allow me my husbandly rights. Why do you think there were no children? My seed is strong. I have fathered my share of bastards, Glynn, but Rhonwyn would not let me near her. At least Katherine is eager for children and will give me legitimate heirs."

"How convenient that my sister should suddenly disappear then," Glynn said. "Or did you arrange her mysterious disappearance?"

"Do you think me so without honor, then?" Edward demanded.

"Yes," Glynn ap Llywelyn said deprecatingly. Then he smiled a silent challenge at his brother-in-law.

Edward de Beaulieu's hand went to where his sword would have been in battle. His eyes flashed irately at the younger man.

"My lord," Oth's voice broke in amid the tension. "Glynn has not the skill to fight you. He is angry beyond reason, as you well may understand. You are the man in this matter."

"Get from my sight," Edward said to Glynn. "I do not want to see yo u ever again!"

"I am not afraid to fight you!" Glynn declared passionately.

"Come, lad," Oth said softly. "He will certainly kill you, and then who will there be to find our Rhonwyn?"

"I place a Welsh curse upon you, Edward de Beaulieu," the boy said. "May you have only daughters!" Then he turned and left the courtyard.

Edward laughed mockingly. "Would that his sister had shown me such passion," he said to Oth. "Take him home before he gets himself killed. Perhaps ap Gruffydd can do something with his son. He is no longer my responsibility, nor do I want him."

Oth nodded silently, and then followed after his young master. While he had managed to keep Glynn from getting himself killed, he was in total agreement with the lad. The Welshman had always thought de Beaulieu coldhearted, but now he was certain of it. Still, what could they do now? If the Englishman was telling the truth, and there really was no reason to think he wasn't, then where had Rhonwyn gotten to? Thinking about it hurt his brain, and when they reached their inn he gladly followed Nada to her chambers, as was her custom in the afternoon heat.

She rubbed his head, taking the ache away, and he pleasured her into temporary repletion, saying afterward, "I want to buy you a gift, Nada. What would you like, remembering I am a poor man?"

She laughed her husky laugh. "A gold bangle will not harm your finances, Oth, but you must remember I wear only gold ornaments that come from the caliphate of Cinnebar. Their goldsmiths are truly without equal. Later this afternoon when it is cooler, we shall shop together at the only merchant in all of Acre who carries jewelry from Cinnebar. He will charge you little, as it is for me."

"Cinnebar? I have never heard of such a place. Where is it?" Oth leaned over and kissed the fat nipple on her big breast.

"It is a tiny kingdom, fairly isolated, in the mountains to the west and south of Carthage," Nada told him. "They have famous gold mines and other wealth, but it is small and so difficult to reach that no conqueror will bother with it." She reached out to encourage his manhood to action again. "They were once a Christian state, but then converted to Islam. Their rulers were allowed to take the most rare of titles, caliph, which means defender of the faith. Oh, that's nice," she purred as her lover sheathed himself inside her once again. "I shall truly miss you, Oth," she told him.

He used her fiercely and roughly, as she liked, exhausting her into sleep at last. Oth then lay by his mistress's side, considering what she had told him. Was it possible, just possible, that the lady Rhonwyn had somehow ended up in Cinnebar? Edward de Beaulieu claimed to have sought for her for several days, but he had gone only into the foothills of the mountains. Oth knew from the talk he had heard in Acre that a fair woman, virgin or not, was most highly prized here in the slave markets by the Arab lords, whose own women were dark haired, dark eyed, and darker skinned. What if the men who had captured her had taken her to Cinnebar and sold her as a slave?

When Nada finally awoke and they dressed he asked her if such a thing was possible.

"Of course" was ihe firm answer. "Even if she was not the most beautiful girl in the world, her hair, her eyes, and her skin would make her most valuable. You say she is beautiful? Then her captors would have treated her gently in order to gain the highest price for her. Most likely Cinnebar is where they would have taken her. Any longer trip, and your mistress might very well have died, not being used to the climate. 1 ler captors would have known that and would have wanted to turn their profit as quickly as possible lest she sicken on them."

"How can we get to Cinnebar?" Oth asked Nada.

She smiled broadly at him. "How fortunate you are that I took you for my lover," she said. "Gold jewelry from Cinnebar is for the wealthy, not a mere innkeeper. Fortunately the shopkeeper I am taking you to meet is my cousin. His sister is married to a merchant of Cinnebar. Melek is a resourceful woman, and she will help you. The first thing we must do is find a caravan going to Cinnebar. If not from here, then from Carthage, or Alexandria, or Damascus. You will probably not be able to travel directly, for caravans to Cinnebar are rare."

"We could travel by sea to Carthage, could we not?" Oth said.

"Yes," Nada said thoughtfully. "We will speak with my cousin the merchant about it. He will know, and perhaps you can act as his agent. He would pay your passage then, so your pretty young master would have only two passages to concern him." She looked at him longingly. "Oh, I am indeed going to miss you, Oth. It will be a long while, if ever, before I find another lover like you!" She patted his rump affectionately, and then said, "Let us go now. I want my gold bangle so I may always remember you, my little Welshman." Then with a chuckle she was off, and Oth dutifully followed behind her.

There would be time enough this evening to tell Glynn about this most interesting bit of news, and they might as well begin looking in Cinnebar as anywhere else. It seemed most logical. He would miss Nada, too, Oth thought. She had indeed proved a lusty fuck, but it was her good heart and easy laughter that had delighted him as well. Still, they would surely have a few more hot afternoons before he and his companions departed. If God was kind, Oth considered with a grin.

Chapter 12

“You came to me practically a virgin, and now you are probably the most wanton creature I have ever known," Rashid al Ahmet teased bis beautiful second wife. "Ah, yes, you witch!"

She knelt belore him, her bands and her mouth entertaining the various aspects of his manhood. One hand gripped him, keeping him steady within her month while her tongue encircled him, tantalizing him expertly, even as the fingers of her other hand bedeviled his pendulous jewels, stroking them, tickling them lightly as he grew harder and harder in the warm cave beyond her succulent lips.

He kneaded her gilt-colored head as she continued to arouse him, but finally he said in a thick voice, "Enough, witch!"

Rhonwyn looked up at him with a wicked smile. Then swinging her lithe body about, she knelt upon all fours, elevating her milky white bottom to him. "Does it please my lord to play the stallion with his willing mare?" she taunted him. Turning her head, she looked over her shoulder at him seductively. She was burning for his passion.

"Yes!" he growled, kneeling behind her and thrusting easily into her hot, wet love channel, pushing deep, withdrawing, and thrusting again. "I cannot get enough of you, my exquisite Noor. It pleases me that you now feel the same way."

She whimpered her open pleasure as his fingers dug into her hips, steadying her against his onslaught. His lance probed her deeply, sending ripples of shivers down her spine. Until the caliph she had never even dreamed of such pleasure, and the thought struck her as it always did when Rashid made such passionate love to her: that she wished she might have shared this loveliness with Edward de Beaulieu. Her head spun, and she half sobbed, "Oh, Allah, 'tis wonderful, my lord! Do not cease! Do not cease!" She reached the apex of her delight, shuddering violently as it shattered over her, receded, and left her weak. Her body collapsed onto the carpet. But withdrawing, he turned her onto her back and pushed his manhood into her again.

"Not yet," he ordered her. "I am not ready, my fair Noor, and you are too quick to grasp your pleasure, just as a greedy child with a sweet. I must teach you more self-control." His dark eyes mocked her as he moved slowly, deliberately, upon her, arousing her once again to heights to which she did not think she could return so soon. And when he was satisfied at last, his love juices burst, flooding her channel, leaving them both but half-conscious as the pleasure drained slowly away. He rolled onto his back, drawing her onto his chest within his embrace. "Ah, Noor, my love, you are magnificent."

His words comforted her as she fell into an exhausted sleep, not even knowing when he arose and carried her to her own bed, drawing a light coverlet over her beautiful body. The caliph of Cinnebar smiled softly upon his beautiful second wife. His life, it seemed, had become so perfect since she had entered it over a year ago. At first she had been but a beautiful possession, but then he realized he had fallen in love with her.

He was a fortunate man, Rashid al Ahmet thought to himself. Two beautiful wives. Both loving and compatible with one another. Could Paradise be any better than this? Although he still occasionally took his pleasure with one of the concubines in his harem, it was but a momentary diversion. It was Noor whom he loved with a young man's passion, and now he wanted children by her.

He was more than well aware of the methods used within his household to prevent conception. He even approved. The two wives he had executed had given him three children between them. His younger son, Omar, and his two little daughters. Mohammed, his heir who was fourteen, was now allowed sterile harem damsels for his pleasure. Rashid al Ahmet knew the dangers of too many sons and but one kingdom to inherit. His younger brothers had always been difficult to control even before their father died. Kasim had, quite fortunately, died of a fever at age fifteen, and bis own exquisite Noor had slain Abdallah in battle. Now he wanted a child from this wife he called his warrior woman. He would speak with Alia and with Baba Haroun, for it was just possible they would know how he might be certain of fathering only a daughter on Noor, not a son to perhaps one day challenge Mohammed and even Omar. He smiled down on Noor, and then left her sleeping peacefully in her own bed.

His first wile was sympathetic to his desires, but his chief eunuch was fiercely against it.

"Your life is peaceful and perfect right now, my lord. You have a son who is just about a man. You have a second son who should, Allah forfend anything happen to the first, be there to succeed. There is no certain way to guarantee the lady Noor would bear you a daughter. Think, my lord, think! Lady Noor is a fierce woman despite the passion you have for one another. She has killed without regret. She could kill again if the matter involved her own son. Do not put her in that position, or yourself, or Lady Alia, my lord," Baba Haroun said seriously.

"I must think on it," Rashid al Ahmet replied. "I do long for a daughter as beautiful as she is."

"Does she wish for a child, my lord?" the chief eunuch asked.

"She has not said so," the caliph answered.

"Then let well enough alone, my lord," Baba Haroun pleaded.

The caliph turned to Alia. "What are your thoughts on this, my honored first wife? You are remarkably silent in this matter."

"As always, Rashid, I want what will make you happy," Alia told him. "Mohammed is fourteen now, and little Omar almost six. If Noor gave you a son, I cannot see any danger to my son. By the time this child was grown Mohammed would have fathered his own sons, and Omar, too. Besides, I do not see that kind of ambition in Noor. And she might indeed give you a daughter, not a son. But if she has expressed no wish for a child, you would be wise not to force the issue for now."

"I must think on it," the caliph repeated, but both Alia and Baba Haroun knew that he had already made up his mind. He wanted a child from Noor and would not be satisfied until he had one.

"My lord, of interest to you, perhaps," Baba Haroun said, "there is a young poet in the city-the foreigners call him a minstrel. His songs are drawing many to the tavern of Akram Yasir. I have gone myself and heard him. He sings in both our language and the many languages of the world. Perhaps before he goes on his way we should have him to the palace to entertain. He is pleasant to look upon and nicely spoken. I believe the harem ladies and the children would enjoy him, as I am certain would you, my lord."

"Very well," the caliph said, "you may issue my invitation."

The chief eunuch bowed low and hurried off.

The caliph left his first wife, and Alia sent one of her women to ask the lady Noor if she would come and join her. Rhonwyn came willingly, for she liked Alia and enjoyed her company. When the first wife dismissed all of her women so that they were alone, Rhonwyn knew that something important was about to happen.

"What is it?" she asked Alia.

"Do you love Rashid?" Alia said softly.

"I respect him and I love his passion," Rhonwyn replied carefully.

"But do you love him?" Alia persisted.

Rhonwyn shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "My memories of Edward de Beaulieu are yet strong in my head. Perhaps one day they will not be, and I will love Rashid. Allah only knows he has been patient and kind. You arouse guilt within me by asking such a question, Alia. Why is it you do so? Surely you do not think I mean Rashid any harm?"

"No, no!" Alia replied. "I ask because of something he has said. He wants a child from you, Noor. Do you want a child?"

Rhonwyn looked astounded. "A child? I had not thought of having a child. A child would bind me to Rashid. With Edward…" She paused, and then said, "You know how it was with Edward, my friend. We were just beginning to explore our love when I was snatched away from him. Thinking on it, I know now that I should have liked to have borne Edward's children. Why does Rashid want a child of my body? He has children to follow him. I am his plaything, his latest passion. I am certainly nothing more to him than that, Alia."

"He loves you, Noor. Do you not realize it? Rashid is in love with you. That is why he wants a child of your body." The caliph's first wife looked deeply into the eyes of her beautiful companion. "Oh, my poor Noor," she said. "You have been awakened to passion, but you know nought of love, do you?"

"I love Edward!" Rhonwyn cried.

"I wonder if you really did, my dear. I wonder if he truly loved you. You did not know each other long enough, and your relationship, from what you have told me, was quite adversarial most of the time you were together. You were yet a child, playing at your games of war with your weapons. You were careless and heedless of what would happen to you, else you would not have rushed off to join a battle and be captured. You would have withdrawn to your sick husband's side at the first alarm of trouble, Noor. But you did not. You thought only of yourself, not of Edward de Beau-lieu, didn't you? I say these things not to distress you, my friend, but to waken you.

"You are loved by a good and powerful man. Open yourself to that love. Passion shared between two people who love one another is far more potent than passion merely shared between a man and a woman, my Noor. This I know from my own experience. A child bom of such a love is a most fortunate child," Alia concluded.

Rhonwyn's hand had gone to her mouth in startled realization as Alia had spoken to her. She had been a child. Selfish and determined to have her own way in everything. What a disservice she had done Edward. And ap Gruffydd as well. But despite Alias words, Rhonwyn knew she could not love Rashid al Ahmet as Alia did. More than ever now she wished she could return to Edward de Beaulieu and tell him of all she had learned. Not just of passion but of herself. She wanted them to begin again, but it was impossible. She would have to go through life bearing the guilt for thoughtlessly abandoning him for her own pleasure. And she had an added guilt in the caliph who loved her.

"You look so stricken," Alia said. "I did not mean to make you unhappy, Noor." She reached out and patted her friend's arm.

"Nay," Rhonwyn said. "You have but made me face myself for the first time in my life, Alia. I am not certain I like what I see. I wonder if I understand what love is at all."

"Let Rashid teach you!" Alia pleaded.

"How can you say that to me when it is obvious that you love him with all your heart? How can you so willingly share him, Alia?"

"Because I love him, and hecause it is our way," the older woman said. "It is not possible for one woman to satisfy a man. A man is like a honeybee and needs many flowers to keep him happy."

Rhonwyn shook her head in despair. "Four years ago," she said, "I lived in a border fortress with my brother and a garrison of rough men who had raised me. I knew nothing of being a woman. I didn't even know God, Alia. My brain aches with all I have learned in these last years." She sighed." I will try to love Rashid, I promise you, but why would you encourage me to have a child? What if it is another son? My son could rival your son. Do you want that?"

"Mohammed will follow his father and will be years older than any son you bear our lord," Alia said assuredly.

"Is it custom that the eldest son follows his father here in Cin-nebar?" Rhonwyn asked Alia.

"No," Alia answered, "but everyone knows Mohammed is to follow his father onto the throne of Cinnebar."

"What if I bear the caliph a son? What if the caliph does not go to his reward in Paradise until that son is twenty years of age? What if he loves my son better than yours because of the love he has for me? And loving my son better, he names him the next caliph? How would you feel about that, Alia?" Rhonwyn asked her friend.

Alias face was a mask of her conflicting emotions, but then she answered honestly, "1 should not like that, Noor."

"And therein lies the danger," Rhonwyn replied. "I would rather have your friendship, Alia, than bear a son to rival yours."

"But you might have a daughter," Alia said, "and he truly desires a daughter from you. He has already fathered two sons and two daughters. You could have a daughter, Noor."

"His passion is hot and potent for me, Alia. His seed is copious when he releases it into my hidden garden. I could have a son. I know what is clone to prevent conception here in the harem, for Nilak has explained it to me. Please, give me a little more time before you withdraw that special brew from me. I need to think. So do you. He need never know. I care not if he thinks me barren, Alia. He will not stop loving me or gaining pleasure from my body. Perhaps I can even learn to love him a little bit to add to his delight," Rhonwyn said.

"She speaks more sense than I would have thought," Baba Haroun said, stepping from behind a wall hanging. "Do not scold me, lady, for listening. You know that my duty to you is paramount. Have I not been with you since you were but a child in your father's house? Lady Noor is wise to consider all the consequences of the caliph's desire. What, indeed, if the caliph loved a son of her body more than Prince Mohammed? She would not, I believe, encourage such a thing, for there is no malice in her, but we cannot control the caliph's feelings, as you and I know. A son of Noor's body could prove a catastrophe for Cinnebar. For us all, my lady Alia! Listen to the lady Noor."

"Fate, my dear Baba Haroun, will take its course no matter what we do. The Jews have a saying: Man plans. God laughs," Alia said quietly. "If Rashid desires a child of Noor, then it is her duty to give him one. I am willing, however, as head of my lord's harem, to let her wait a little more before she must fulfill that duty."

"It will be as my lady wills," the chief eunuch said.

Rhonwyn bowed her head in obedience to the first wife, but afterward told Nilak of all that had happened.

"A child!" Nilak said excitedly. "That would be wonderful, my dear lady. I knew you were fortunate the day I first laid eyes upon you. The lady Alia is correct when she says the caliph loves you. Many in the harem are very jealous of you, although you would not notice it, having no acquaintance with the other women."

"The others bore me," Rhonwyn said. "They seem to do nothing but lay about beautifying themselves and hoping that the caliph will notice them. I far prefer Lady Alias company."

"There is to be a special entertainment for the harem shortly," Nilak told her mistress. "A famous young musician who has been in the town entertaining at a tavern. He is to come to the palace in a few days and sing for us, it is said."

"How is that possible, since we are not allowed to be seen by others?" Rhonwyn asked.

"The harem, but for the lady Alia and you, will be seated behind screens. You two, however, are permitted to sit at the caliph's feet, suitably veiled, of course. There are but a few invited guests. The vizier, the caliph's treasurer, the imam. No others. It is an informal event, my lady Noor."

"I always enjoyed music," Rhonwyn said, "although our music is different than yours."

"These musicians are foreigners. They sing and play in many languages, I am told. Perhaps even yours," Nilak replied.

"I doubt it," Rhonwyn said with a smile. "Welsh is a difficult tongue. Almost as difficult as Arabic."

"Which you now speak flawlessly and without even an accent," Nilak praised the younger woman.

"When are we to hear these musicians?" Rhonwyn asked.

"Baba Haroun has not yet announced their coming" was the reply. "It should be soon, though."

The mere mention of an entertainment to which they were to be invited set the harem women abuzz with excitement. The mistress of the wardrobe was besieged with requests for clothing and jewelry. Gossip ran rife about what the lady Alia and the lady Noor would wear. The fact that they would be seated by the caliph and not behind the screens caused a great deal of jealousy.

"The wives always have more privileges, and why?" one girl whined as she braided pearls into her hair.

"Because they are wives and have children," another more sensible and practical woman said.

"The lady Noor has no children," the first replied.

"But she is easily the most beautiful woman in the world," the practical woman answered, "and besides, the caliph loves her."

The other women nodded in agreement. It was certainly no secret that Rashid al Ahmet was utterly besotted by the beautiful Frankish woman. The lady Noor, to give her credit, however, seemed modest despite their master's grand passion. Even the lady Alia was her friend.

The date for the entertainment was announced, and the excitement grew to a fever pitch. The evening the musicians came, the harem was shepherded by Baba Haroun and his minions into the great hall of the caliph's palace. The veiled ladies sat behind the sheer fabric screens, their view visible but faintly obscured. Rashid al Ahmet sat upon a low-cushioned golden and bejeweled throne set upon a black marble dais. On his right his eldest son, Mohammed, was seated upon a low stool, his head only reaching the height of his father's hand. On the caliph's left his other son, Omar, was similarly ensconced. The ruler of Cinnebar was garbed in a black and gold brocaded silk robe. There was a small gold turban upon his dark head with a large ruby in its center. His two sons were dressed in simple white robes, but their heads were bare.

The lady Alia sat upon a scarlet silk cushion to the right of her husband and just one step below the dais. She wore a scarlet kaftan decorated with gold, which complemented her coloring. The lady Noor sat upon a cloth-of-silver cushion to the left of the caliph and two steps below the dais. Her simple kaftan was turquoise blue in color, trimmed in silver. Both women wore sheer matching veils over their heads and drawn across their faces for modesty's sake, although anyone looking closely could have seen their features. Still, no man in the room among the few guests would have been so rude.

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."

"Thank you, Baba Haroun," Rhonwyn said, her heart hammering against her ribs as she spoke. That he would have stooped to her murder truly frightened her.

"Return now to your quarters, Noor. I will contact your brother, and we will make all the necessary arrangements. You will be told when the time is come. You are pale, Noor, but you need have no fear of me. You, yourself, have solved the problem we had, and I will not betray you for the love we both bear the lady Alia." He smiled a quite kindly smile at Rhonwyn. "Go."

She got to her feet, remembering to bow to this powerful man. Then she hurried from his quarters, not quite certain whether she should rejoice or not. She could not know until the moment came if she would really be free or if he would betray her. Living in the harem had taught her one thing, and that was that you could trust no one completely. Still, she knew she had not made an enemy of Baba Haroun. Surely he would keep his word.

"What did he say?" Nilak demanded as Rhonwyn reentered her apartments. "I will wager he is in no hurry for you to bear the caliph a child. He is loyal first to Lady Alia." She made a disapproving face.

"Of course he is," Rhonwyn said, "and that is as it should be. He has been with her since her childhood in her father's house. I am not certain in my own mind that I am ready to become a mother yet."

"If you wait much longer, you shall see gray in that gilt hair of yours," Nilak scolded, and two other serving women giggled. "You are past eighteen, my lady Noor, and not getting any younger. If our lord Rashid wants a child of you, then you must give him a child. It is your duty."

"Be silent!" Rhonwyn suddenly snapped. "You overstep your bounds, Nilak. My entire life I have done my duty and never once shirked. If it is Allah's will that I give the caliph a child, then I shall. Now, leave me, all of you. I would be alone with my thoughts."

The three serving women withdrew, and Rhonwyn walked out into her small garden. The little fountain with its splashing water was soothing to her, and she very much needed to calm herself after her meeting with Baba Haroun. The heady scent of the Damascus roses touched her nostrils, lulling her into a more placid frame of mind. She walked slowly down the crushed marble path to the carved stone bench that overlooked the mountains. Her vista faced west, she knew, for each evening she watched the sun set behind those forbidding dark peaks. Once, with Nilak and Halah holding on to her tightly, she had gone to the edge of her garden and peered down. There had been nothing below but rocks and a gray-green scrub growth. She had gotten dizzy, and her servants had hauled her back. Anyone falling from this height would surely be killed.

"Nilak tells me you have spoken to Baba Haroun about having a child." Rashid al Ahmet sat down beside his second wife.

"Nilak takes much upon herself," Rhonwyn replied, irritated.

"She but wants your happiness," he said, taking her hand in his and kissing her fingers one by one.

"I am happy," Rhonwyn said. "She does not understand that being with you is my happiness, Rashid. Why do you want a child of me? You have children, so it cannot be your vanity, for you could satisfy that urge on any of your women whenever it pleased you."

"I want a child of you because I love you," he said quietly, and drawing her into his arms, he began to kiss her passionately. "I love you, Noor! I want our love to be complete, and only a child can give us that completion. Do you understand? Ah, yes, I believe that you do." He kissed the tears slipping from behind her closed eyelids.

"You make me ashamed for being so selfish," Rhonwyn said honestly. And he did, she thought sadly He did love her, but she did not love him. Not while Edward de Beaulieu still lingered in her memory.

He stroked her hair tenderly, and then his hand slipped within the opening of her kaftan, and he cupped one of her breasts in his palm. He fondled her, his thumb rubbing her nipple into a sharp point. She murmured softly, and reaching down, he drew the kaftan up and off her body, rendering her naked for his pleasure. Pulling her into his lap, he bent her backward slightly, his mouth closing over the sensitive peak. He suckled hungrily on it. Rhonwyn whimpered as her deep arousal began. He would not cease, she knew, until she had satisfied him, and he, her. Her hands reached out to caress him.

He nursed upon both her breasts until they were actually sore. Then his mouth moved across her torso, and it was as if his lips were lire upon her skin. When he kissed her hard upon her smooth Venus mons, a bolt of lightning seemed to penetrate her body, and she shuddered. His pointed tongue ran along the shadowed slash dividing her nether lips. It teased her, down and up and down again. He lay her upon the stone bench and, kneeling before her, used his two thumbs to open her to his view.

"You are like a pink shell from the sea," he told her. "Your little jewel is perfectly formed. It but waits for my touch, my beautiful, my exquisite wife."

The point of his tongue touched her, and Rhonwyn gasped as a sensation, more acute than any she had ever before felt, slammed into her. "Rashid!" She could say no more. The wonder of his passion was too intense for her. Each day it seemed to increase.

He laughed as her love juices pearled upon her coral flesh. "Can I not teach you patience, my love?" he gently scolded her. Then opening his robes, he revealed his engorged manhood and, straddling the bench, he lowered himself upon her. He thrust deep, smiling as she gasped aloud with his fierce entry. Then gathering her into his arms, he murmured as he raised them both up into a seated position. "Wrap your limbs about me, Noor, as I stand." Then he arose and walked, carrying her into her bedchamber where he pressed her up against a wall and began to move upon her.

Rhonwyn's eyes widened with surprise, and he laughed.

"Here is something new for you," he teased her as she clung to him, her arms tight about his neck.

"It is interesting," she managed to say, "but I want you atop me, my lord. I want to feel your weight upon me. Please!"

He laughed again. "How you have changed, my precious one," he told her, but he complied, moving to her bed and falling with her upon it.

"Yes!" she cried out. "Yes! Oh, that is good, my lord! Do not cease this pleasure, I beg you! Do not cease!" Her legs still wrapped about him, she tightened the muscles of her love channel around his plunging lance and smiled wickedly into his eyes when he groaned. "Do I please you, my Rashid?" she demanded. Her nails dug into his shoulders. "Alia swears you liked this." She tightened herself again.

"I do," he groaned. "Oh, my love, I do!"

Then she forced his passion from him, and his love juices filled her as Rhonwyn sighed her own deep pleasure. Once Edward had told her that a shared passion was a better passion, and it was. She wondered how much greater her pleasure would be if she loved this man called Rashid al Ahmet who now lay upon her breasts, gasping with his own exertions. Absently she stroked his dark head, wondering as she did how long it would be before she could escape Cinnebar and return to her husband, Edward de Beaulieu. To show him that her fears were gone and that she could love him completely and freely. For that they owed the caliph of Cinnebar a great debt, but she suspected that she could not dwell too greatly upon that fact.

She was eager to learn the plans for her escape, but Baba Haroun said nothing, and some weeks went by before he finally called her into his private chamber. Rhonwyn went, her heart hammering, not knowing if he meant to kill her or give her her freedom. Her beautiful face, however, showed no hint of her fears. "You sent for me?" she said, bowing politely to him.

"The plan is completed," he replied without any preamble.

She raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Tonight," he said low. "Your women will be given a bit of poppy in their mint tea to assure their deep slumber. I will come for you myself, Noor. The shattered bones are ready to place along with the kaftan in which your women see you last. It will be shredded and scattered along with your unique hair. It will be enough to convince all that you have fallen and perished."

"How will you place all of the debris?" she questioned him.

He smiled enigmatically. "You cannot see it from your terrace, of course, but there is a small door just below it. Such entries are common in this palace. They were placed there as a means of escape when the palace was built. lew know where they are located, not even the caliph, but I do. I will personally place these items on the rocks below before I aid you in your flight, Noor. Now, no more questions. If Nilak queries you, tell her we have decided the time is propitious for you to have a child. The caliph wishes it, and the lady Alia wishes it. Then later I shall speak to her myself regarding the matter."

"What if the caliph wants to visit my bed tonight?" Rhonwyn said.

"He will not," Baba Haroun said with assurance.

"How can you be certain?" she demanded.

The chief eunuch chuckled. "Because he will be tasting the charms of a red-haired virgin from the Basque region I recently purchased for him in the marketplace for just this occasion. The caliph has a particular weakness for virgins. Her initiation into the amatory arts will keep him busy the entire night. Surely you understand his appetites for passion by now, Noor."

"Indeed," Rhonwyn said. He claimed love for her, yet he could be tempted by a virgin, she thought irritably.

"Go now," Baba Haroun said. "1 will come for you when the time is at hand."

"My brother?"

"Will be waiting along with those two rather disreputable fellows he travels with. Oth and Dewi, I believe they are called," Baba Haroun said.

"They are not disreputable," she said softly. "They are the kindest and best of men, Baba Haroun. They helped to raise me."

"So they told me, and in the most execrable Arabic I have ever heard spoken aloud," Baba Haroun said dryly. "They love you even as I love my mistress, Noor. That more than anything else convinced me that I was doing the right thing in helping you to escape Cinnebar."

She caught up his two large brown hands and kissed them. "Thank you! Thank you, Baba Haroun!"

He was startled by her generous gratitude. He drew his hands from her light grip. "You know why I aid you, Noor, and yet in doing so I must betray my master. I do it gladly for the lady Alia, but I will bear the guilt all my days. Rashid al Ahmet truly loves you. Your death will pain him greatly. I do not know if I shall ever be able to compensate him for your loss, but I will try."

"Do you censure me then, Baba Haroun, for my desire to leave Cinnebar?" Rhonwyn asked him.

"You cannot help yourself, Noor. In your heart you hold a memory of love for Edward de Beaulieu. All my master's love cannot hope to overcome that other love. So, I will help you to go this night."

There was nothing left to say, Rhonwyn knew, and so she bowed again to the chief eunuch. His words made her feel sad, and yet she could not change how she felt. She hurried from Baba Haroun s private chamber, swallowing back her excitement as she did. She must not be stopped now. Not when her freedom was so close!