A Memory of Love

by Bertrice Small

  But Enit giggled. "I know," she said, understanding. "My uncle, who is the steward here, says all the best castles have them. It is nice not to have to go outside and pee on a cold morning, my lady."

  Now it was Rhonwyn who giggled. "I have so much to learn, Enit. I have been raised in virtual isolation my whole life, and in Wales we have not these wonderful modern conveniences. Tomorrow I would speak with your uncle so he may inform me of all these wonders."

  "Tomorrow is your wedding day, my lady," Enit reminded her.

  "Then the day after tomorrow," Rhonwyn said. "Is there a priest in residence here who says the mass?"

  "Yes, my lady. It is Father John, and he says the mass at the hour of Prime each day."

  "You will see I am awakened in time to be there," Rhonwyn told her servant. If there was one thing the abbess had impressed upon her niece, it was that daily attendance at mass was essential if one was to set a good example to one's servants. "Now, let me finish my meal. The hole in my belly is not quite filled." She sat down again at her table and ate the food remaining upon her plate.

  When she had finished, Enit offered her lady a bath, but Rhonwyn refused, wanting to sleep. Instead, Enit brought a silver ewer of warm water for her mistress to wash her face and hands in so that she would not get grease upon the sheets. "Among my possessions you will find a small stiff brush, Enit. Bring it to me," Rhonwyn instructed the girl after she had washed. And when the brush was in her hand she showed Enit how she kept the yellow from her teeth, brushing them vigorously, then rinsing with her remaining wine and spitting it into the basin. "In future I will want mint leaves to chew to sweeten my breath. Sister Dicra taught me that," she explained to Enit.

  Enit helped her mistress disrobe, carefully brushing the gown and putting it away. She drew the shoes from Rhonwyn's feet, promising to clean them before the morrow. "Will you wear your chemise to bed, my lady?" Enit asked.

  "Not this one, for the sleeves are tight," Rhonwyn said. "You will find a white chemise with long wide sleeves among my possessions. That is what I prefer to sleep in, Enit."

  Enit rummaged through her lady's chest and found the required garment. She helped Rhonwyn out of the one and into the other. "If you will seat yourself, my lady," she told her mistress as she placed the gown chemise in the garderobe, "I will brush your hair." Then as she did she sighed admiringly, "Ah, to have such a crowning glory, my lady Rhonwyn. I have never seen hair like this. Surely it is spun from thistledown and touched by the sun itself."

  "I am said to be descended from the fairy folk of ancient Cymri," Rhonwyn told the girl as she braided her hair for the night. "They were fair like I am, like my mam was, not dark like ap Gruffydd and his ilk."

  The servant helped her mistress into her bed, saying, "The fire should go the night, my lady, and keep you warm. If you need me you have but to call and I will come, for I am not a heavy sleeper." She blew out the small taper by the bedside and entered the garderobe where her own sleeping space was located.

  Rhonwyn lay quietly. So, here she was. In the castle that was to be her home for the rest of her life. Tomorrow she would be a wife, ap Gruffydd would depart. Good riddance to him! She would be alone with Edward de Beaulieu, who seemed pleasant enough. Would he allow her to have her brother here? It had been six months since she had been separated from her younger sibling. She had promised Glynn, and she had to keep that promise. While she had been at the abbey there was no hope of their being together, but now… Surely one small boy could not matter to this lord, and God only knew ap Gruffydd had no use for his son. He would remain at Cythraul the rest of his days if she could not rescue him. What if the fortress were attacked by the English or by another faction in opposition to ap Gruffydd? Glynn could be killed or worse if ap Gruffydd's enemies learned who he was. She had to gain his custody as quickly as possible. She had to!

  Enit awakened her just as the darkling skies were showing signs of growing lighter. She dressed quickly in a simple dark brown gown wild a girdle of delicate copper links. Enit put a matching fur-lined cloak over her shoulders, and together the two young women hurried to the small church that was located within the castle's walls. There they attended the mass, and afterward the priest came forward to greet the girl who would be the castle's new mistress.

  "You are rested now, my child?" bather John asked her. "1 was sorry we did not meet at table last night."

  "I was very wearied from my journey," Rhonwyn explained. "The prince was most anxious to deliver me lest the English think he had reneged on his promise to marry his daughter to King Henry's man."

  The priest heard the faint tone of mockery in her voice. "You are content with this arrangement, my child?" he gently inquired.

  "I am told I must marry, good father, if I have no calling to God's service, which I most assuredly do not," she laughed. "It is my duty and my obligation to my prince to accept his decision in this matter. The lord of this place seems kind and has been most considerate of me. I have never had a suitor, nor is there anyone who has captured my fancy. This match is acceptable to me."

  "Good," the priest replied. "I am happy to see what an obedient and dutiful daughter you are, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. You will undoubtedly be an obedient and dutiful wife as well. The lord has asked that the ceremony be performed after the hour of None. Will that be acceptable to you, my child?"

  Rhonwyn's eyes twinkled at the priest. "I have only but to be there, good father, do I not?" she told him. Then she and Enit hurried off.

  The priest watched her go, and he could not keep a small smile from turning up the corners of his mouth. The new lady of Haven Castle was a touch independent and headstrong, he could see. Well, she would need her strength. She was very much like her aunt, the abbess of Mercy Abbey. He had once served in the church there some ten years back. He sensed a disdain in his new lady for her father, and wondered why. Still, she seemed quite reconciled to her fate, so he had to assume that all would be well.

  Because it was considered ill fortune for the bridegroom to see the bride prior to the marriage ceremony, Rhonwyn kept to her chambers until it was time for her to go to the church again. Enit dressed her in the gown her aunt had made for the occasion. It was cream-colored silk, the neckline high and rounded, the sleeves long and tight. Over it she wore a sleeveless gown of gold and silver brocade with a matching fabric girdle studded with tiny pearls. Her stockings were plain and gartered at the knee. Her shoes had a pretty painted toe. Enit brushed her hair, leaving it loose to signify her virginity. The servant set a small fillet of twisted gold and silver threads on Rhonwyn's head.

  There was a knock at the door, and Enit opened it to reveal Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. She curtsied.

  "Run along, lass," he told her. "I would speak with my daughter before I bring her to the church." He gently pushed the girl from the chamber and closed the door behind her.

  "What do you want?" Rhonwyn demanded of him irritably.

  "To remind you that whatever you may feel toward me, you are still the daughter of the prince of all Wales and Welsh by your birth. Remember it, Rhonwyn uerch Llywelyn. I will expect you to write to me regularly, my daughter."

  "Can you actually read?" she mocked him. Then her look hardened. "I have worked hard to overcome your neglect of me, my lord, and I have accepted your choice of a husband for me. I have done my duty by you; but once the priest says that I am Edward de Beaulieu's wife, my loyalty will lie with him. Do you understand me, my lord? I will not spy on my husband or on the English for you!"

  "Your duty…" he began to bluster, but Rhonwyn cut him short.

  "I am doing my duty, my lord, but shortly you will no longer have charge over me. My English husband will, and I will not betray him. What more do you want than you already have, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd? You have Wales and a strong England is your overlord. If you do not deceive them and keep faith with your sworn word, what future difficulties can you have, my lord? And how dare you ask me to break faith with the man who will be my husband?
My mother never broke faith with you. Do you expect me to be any less than Vala uerch Huw? Ah, I despise you, ap Gruffydd! Now take me to the church so I may be quit of you!"

  "Your mother loved me and would have done whatever she had to to ensure my safety and well-being," the prince said.

  "But I do not love you, my lord," Rhonwyn told him.

  "I gave you life, wench!" he snarled at her.

  "And until today, that is all you have ever given me," she snapped back at him. "I thank you for today, though, ap Gruffydd, for now I shall be free of you for all times!"

  "There is no arguing with you, is there?" he said, suddenly amused. She was so like Gwynllian. And how had that happened?

  "No," Rhonwyn said quietly. "There is no arguing with me, my lord, prince of all the Welsh. Now," she repeated, "take me to the church."

  Chapter 5

  Edward de Beaulieu, dressed in a tunic of olive green and gold, awaited his bride in the church. He smiled with encouragement as Llywelyn ap Gruffydd led his daughter forward, placing her small hand in his. The bridegroom noted with pleasure how perfectly his wife spoke Latin as she made her responses and recited the prayers. When they were finally officially pronounced man and wife, he turned her face to him and gently kissed her lips. The startled look in Rhonwyn's green eyes surprised him greatly.

  " 'Tis the kiss of peace between us," he told her softly.

  "I have never been kissed before," she responded.

  Then the reality of all the other things his convent-bred wife had never done rose up to assail him. The king wanted the marriage consummated immediately lest Llywelyn take his daughter back on some pretext or another to use her in a more advantageous marriage. Yet it was painfully obvious that his bride was a true innocent. Still, he owed the king his allegiance and would do what had to be done, although he would do his best to be gentle with the girl.

  The day had been mild and sometimes sunny, but now as the evening approached, it was beginning to grow cloudy, and the spring rain was threatening. The little wedding party returned to the hall where a fine meal was served. There was lamb and venison and a lovely fat duck that had been roasted and garnished with a sweet sauce of raisins and figs. There was a blankmanger- chicken cut into pieces and mixed with rice boiled in almond milk, salt, and seasoned with sugar, then sprinkled with fried almonds and anise. Rhonwyn had never eaten it before, and she knew almost immediately that it would be a favorite of hers.

  There was fresh bread, sweet butter, and a fine sharp cheese. A bowl of new peas was offered. The cook had made a small subtlety of colored almond paste and sugar, a couple in a cockle being drawn by a swan. It sat upon a silver dish surrounded by green leaves. It was admired and praised by both the bride and the groom, who drank a toast to each other afterward with rich red wine.

  The day had waned, and the rain was beginning to beat against the shutters of the hall windows. Rhonwyn called for her mandora, and settling it in her lap, played and sang for her husband and the prince. She sang in both her own Welsh tongue-rich, mournful tunes her father translated for his son-in-law-and spritely, amusing songs in the Norman language that brought a chuckle to Edward de Beaulieu. He was beginning to believe that his bride was the most perfect creature on God's earth, and looked forward to being alone with her.

  Finally when she had ceased her entertainment, he said, "Perhaps my lady, you will want to retire now."

  She blushed, and ap Gruffydd chortled, saying, "You could not have a purer maid in your bed tonight, my son, had God himself chosen you a wife, and not King Henry. Remember she is a virgin when you satisfy your lust."

  "My lord," Rhonwyn chided him sharply, "your words are unseemly and very indelicate."

  "And your caution unnecessary, for I see what my wife is," Edward de Beaulieu told his father-in-law. Then he took Rhonwyn's hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed it tenderly. "I will join you eventually, my lady wife," he said quietly.

  She glided from the hall with as much dignity as she could muster, thinking her father crude and her husband gallant. In her chambers she found Enit awaiting her. Her servant had arranged for Rhonwyn to have a bath. The tall oaken tub had been brought from its storage space in the garderobe and filled while they had eaten the wedding feast in the hall below. Enit helped her mistress to disrobe and then step into the tub. The warm water felt wonderful. Rhonwyn pinned her long hair atop her head with a tortoiseshell pin.

  "Put my garments away," she told Enit. "I am quite capable of washing myself. What is that delicious scent? It is so delicate."

  "Heather," Enit replied. "My mother makes an oil from the flowers she gathers on the hill each year. I put some of it in the water, my lady. I hope you like it." She bustled about, brushing Rhonwyn's overgown and undertunic, storing them away in the garderobe.

  "It's lovely," Rhonwyn answered. "I've never had a scented bath before. It's quite wonderful, and I thank you." She took the washing cloth and some of the soft cleansing soap from a stone crock, and set about washing herself. The tub had been set before the fireplace in her dayroom. Rhonwyn splashed happily.

  Then the door to her chambers opened, and she heard her husband say, "Enit, you will sleep in your mother's cottage tonight."

  "Yes, my lord" came the dutiful reply, and Rhonwyn heard the door close again.

  "Are you enjoying your bath, lady?" Edward de Beaulieu asked.

  Rhonwyn turned slowly so as not to spill water onto the floor. He wore only a sherte that came to his knees. "My lord," she said, "am I allowed no privacy in my bath?"

  "I have always enjoyed watching my women bathe," he said quietly.

  "Your women?" Her eyes had widened at his words.

  "Surely, lady, you do not think me a virgin," he responded. "I am a healthy man with healthy appetites. I have kept my share of mistresses. I shall no longer, however, now that I have a wife."

  She nodded. It was reasonable, and his promise to remain faithful to her was comforting.

  "You are flushed with the heat of your bath, Rhonwyn. It is very becoming to you," he told her.

  She did not answer him, for she was not certain what to say. How she hated being made to feel a fool, but this was a situation she had never imagined.

  "Are you coming out of your tub soon, Rhonwyn?" he asked her.

  "How can I when you are standing here, my lord?" she replied.

  "It is my right to see you as God fashioned you, wife," he told her, and his silvery-gray eyes were twinkling.

  "But I have never stood as God fashioned me before any man," she responded quickly. "I am not certain I can."

  Reaching over the edge of the high wood tub, he put his hands beneath her arms and quickly lifted her out of the water, setting her down upon the floor. He drew a deep breath of pleasure. She had sweet little round breasts that begged to be loved.

  With a gasp of both surprise and shock Rhonwyn snatched at the drying cloth and covered her nakedness. "That was unfairly done, my lord!" she scolded him.

  "Has no one ever told you that all is fair in both love and war, my lady wife?" His eyes were burning a hole in the cloth.

  "There is no love here, my lord, so we must be at war," she declared, "and you will find I am no easy enemy."

  Reaching out, he plucked the pin holding her hair atop her head. Then wrapping a hank of the gilt mass about his hand, he pulled her against him, looking down into her beautiful but determined face. "You belong to me, Rhonwyn, as my warhorse belongs to me, as my weapons and my castle belong to me. I am your husband, and I have certain rights that I am privileged to take of you. Certainly you know that." He brushed his lips across her forehead. "You are young and innocent and shy. I understand your fears, but our marriage must be consummated."

  "I barely understand what you are asking of me, my lord, but must this consummation take place tonight? Can we not have time to know one another better? We have only just met."

  "What difference does it make, tonight or another night, eh, lady? Were you any other
man's daughter but ap Gruffydd's, I should gladly honor your request, but you are not. My king fears your father will seek to take you back if the marriage is not immediately consummated. That he would seek an annulment and use you in a more advantageous marriage with an enemy of King Henry."

  "Aye," Rhonwyn agreed, "he is that wily, my lord."

  "I will be as gentle with you as I can," he promised her, caressing her cheek.

  Without realizing, she drew back from his touch. "My mother died when I was five," she said. "I know nothing of what is expected of me. The nuns did not speak on it. I saw the prince atop my mother, but I never knew what transpired between them. I am sorry for my ignorance, but there it is, my lord, and I should rather be honest with you even if you think me a fool for my stupidity."

  "You are a convent-bred virgin, Rhonwyn. You are not expected to know what transpires between a man and his wife until your husband teaches you," he said gently.

  "My lord, I am not convent bred. I spent the last months with my aunt, the Abbess Gwynllian, but before that I lived at Cythraul," Rhonwyn told him.

  "Let us get into bed, wife, and then you can tell me," he suggested, releasing his hold on her. Taking the toweling from her, he dried her as best he could and then led her into her bedchamber. Rhonwyn quickly climbed into the bed, and her husband, pulling his sherte off so that he, also, was naked, joined her. It was done so swiftly that she had no time to really examine him as he had examined her. "Now, tell me, Rhonwyn, what is Cythraul?"

  "A fortress in the Welshry, my lord. It was only chance that ap Gruffydd discovered my brother and me the day after our mam died from birthing too soon our new sister. When he had buried them, he took Glynn and me to Cythraul and left us in the charge of our kinsman, Morgan ap Owen. That is where we remained until ap Gruffydd came to fetch me several months ago."

  "And you were raised by your kinsman's wife?" de Beaulieu asked his bride.

  Rhonwyn shook her head. "Cythraul, my lord, is a fortress of men. There were no women there at all. It would have been too dangerous if the English came over the border, you see," she attempted to explain.