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 yo
u, 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.
A Memory of Love Page 14
