"She lies!" cried the chief lady-in-waiting. "This woman of the Fair Folk bewitched us so that we slept, and while we did, she killed the infant! Look at her! Guilt is written all over her face, and her hands run with the blood of the innocent child she has murdered!"
"I have not killed my child!" Rhiannon cried, rising to her feet to face her accusers.
"Liar! Liar!" the lady-in-waiting repeated and turned from Pwyll to face the others. "What do we really know of this woman?" she asked. "She comes of a magical race whose customs are different than ours. Now she has proved herself a wicked witch of a woman! An evil sorceress! Our prince should never have wed with this black-hearted creature who has wantonly destroyed his son. Rhiannon must be tried and condemned for the murder of her son, Anwyl! Our prince must put this woman aside and wed with one of our own!"
There were murmurs of assent at her words, but Rhiannon declared vehemently once again, " I have not harmed my son! Whatever has happened to him is the fault of these lying women who slept instead of watching over us! I am innocent of this terrible thing of which you charge me!"
"Then why is there blood on your hands, woman of the Fair Folk?" a voice from the back of the hall demanded loudly.
There came an answering chorus of "Ayes!" and a great murmuring rose up against Rhiannon. Pwyll was in deep shock. He could not seem to find his voice in the midst of the dispute. His son was dead, and his wife was charged with the terrible crime. It was almost more than he could bear. Seeing his state, Taran of the Hundred Battles spoke up before someone less sympathetic took charge of the situation.
"There must be an investigation of these charges," he said sternly. "Evan ap Rhys and I will go to the princess's chamber immediately." Then he and his friend hurried from the hall.
Pwyll finally found his voice. "Bring my wife a basin of scented water that she may cleanse her hands free of blood," he commanded. He was reluctantly obeyed.
Rhiannon stood shivering in the early morning chill of the hall. She was yet weak with her labor of the previous day and terrified as to the fate of her infant son. The very air of the hall was ripe with evil. Looking up, Rhiannon's violet eyes met the triumphant ones of Bronwyn of the White Breast. In that moment in time the princess of the Fair Folk knew that Bronwyn was involved in Anywl's disappearance; but unless she could prove her suspicions, she dared not accuse the jealous girl. For the first time in her entire life Rhiannon felt that most human of all emotions, despair.
Taran and Evan returned to the hall. Taking Pwyll aside, they spoke to him in low, urgent voices, gesturing passionately as they did. They appeared to be showing the prince something. Finally, when they had finished, Pwyll held up his hand for silence and the hall quieted.
"Taran and Evan have thorougly investigated my wife's chamber. Both the cradle that contained my son and the linens upon the bed are free of blood. The only evidence of blood seems to be upon my wife's hands. Beneath the bed the bones and bloodied skin of a deer hound puppy were found. Taran has checked the kennels, and one of the pups born three weeks ago is missing. It would appear that someone has deliberately forged evidence in an effort to harm my wife's reputation." He turned angrily upon the chief lady-in-waiting. " You! I want the truth! What nonsense do you mouth about enchantment? Did you see my wife kill our child? Did any of you?"
The woman fell to the floor at his feet babbling hysterically. "Oh forgive us, my lord! There was no enchantment. To our shame we slept instead of watching as we were bid. When we awoke, the child was gone and the princess bloodied. We feared your wrath, and in our fear we assumed the worst! Forgive us, my lord! Forgive us!"
"Get from my sight, all of you! You are banished from Dyfed from this day onward!" Pwyll shouted angrily and the women fled.
"There is still the small matter of the infant prince's very mysterious disappearance," said Cynbel of Teifi. "Though the waiting women admit to being derelict in their duties, the child is still gone. Who can say for certain that Rhiannon of the Fair Folk is not involved? I, for one, think the child is dead. The evidence that Taran and Evan claim to have found may have been concocted by them to deceive us. Everyone knows that they have been under this creature's spell since her arrival to Dyfed. This woman is not one of us. How can we be certain she speaks the truth? How can we be certain Taran and Evan are not possessed by enchantment? If she is indeed innocent, let her produce the child!"
"Rhiannon, my lady wife," pleaded Pwyll, addressing her for the first time since the ugly incident began, "tell us what has happened to Anwyl, I beg of you!" Suddenly he could not quite look at her; all the warnings given him about marrying a foreigner surfaced in his brain. Had they been right?
"My lord," came the reply, "I know not where our son is, for I was sleeping that I might recover my strength after his birth. I have never lied to you, Pwyll. Why do you now allow me to be accused of such a heinous crime? Why have you not mounted a search for our child? Every moment that passes is a moment lost us. Send criers out through all the lands of Cymri telling of our son's mysterious disappearance that we may find him. Hurry, I beg of you!" Catching his hands in hers, Rhiannon looked into her husband's face and was devastated by what she saw. There was total confusion in Pwyll's look. He did not know whether to believe her or not. Her own heart plummeted.
The prince of Dyfed was caught helplessly between his council and his wife. He loved her, but that love could not override the fact that his son was missing under strange circumstances. The Cymri were a people of regular habits; but, a voice whispered in his head, the Fair Folk are an elusive people whose ways are obscure and secret. Perhaps Rhiannon had not been directly involved in Anwyl's disappearance, but the Fair Folk could be. Perhaps this was but another of King Dylan's conditions of their marriage. One that Rhiannon had feared to tell him. A firstborn son was a valuable commodity.
Then Bronwyn of the White Breast spoke up, and all turned to hear her words. "This is obviously some enchantment of the Fair Folk," she said, amazingly voicing Pwyll's concerns. "It has come upon not just you, my lord, but upon us all, for the baby, Anwyl, was the hope of Dyfed's future. It has come upon Dyfed because you insisted in wedding with this woman of the Fair Folk. A woman not of our own people. She has brought you, brought us all, bad luck.
"For two years we waited for her to produce an heir for Dyfed. Now, the very day after the child's birth, it is dead. This kingdom is without an heir. Who is to say that this horrible thing will not happen over and over again until it is too late for Pwyll to sire a child? What will then become of our fair land?
"The council has advised you well, my lord. They have said you should put this creature of the Fair Folk aside. Divorce her! You must choose a wife from amongst our kind and remarry as soon as possible." Bronwyn turned back to Pwyll and knelt before him. "I know, my dear lord, that there is no hope for me, for you do not love me; but please, I beg of you, choose one of our women for your wife, lest Dyfed wither beneath the curse this woman of the Fair Folk has brought upon us!"
"I will not divorce Rhiannon," Pwyll said, but his voice was uncertain and it trembled slightly.
"Nonetheless, my lord, she must be punished," said Cynbel of Teifi.
"For what?" demanded Taran of the Hundred Battles.