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."