Refuge in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  The horse flew the first mile practically before Cade was settled into the saddle. But then he came over a rise and slowed at the sight of dust smudging the air in the distance. He needed the road, since he didn’t know the landscape at all and proceeding cross-country was a good way to get lost. But he also needed to make sure he could get off the road before whoever was marching towards him wondered what he was doing. And as both he and the army ahead of him grew closer, he was filled with an almost paralyzing panic that these were reinforcements for Aymer de Valence, who’d come to Bury in the first place to wait for them to arrive.

  But then a gust of wind unfurled the lead rider’s banner, and his uncle’s red dragon flew above the marching men’s heads. Farther back was his father’s own battle standard, given to him by Cade’s grandfather when he married Cade’s mother: a gold cross on a purple background. Cade stopped in the middle of the road, a good hundred yards from the front line of riders, so relieved he was almost giddy with it.

  Sophie had arrived at Chester in the late afternoon on April 2nd. At the time, she’d informed them of the victory at Beeston Castle and that, except for a small garrison to guard the prisoners and protect the wounded, the entire army was headed north. Cade’s father’s cavalry had departed Beeston that morning, within hours of the victory, and must have ridden hard to have arrived in Bury and left again by yesterday morning, April 3rd. The bulk of the Welsh spearmen and English foot soldiers who’d joined the fight, however, had left Beeston at the same time as Sophie, and logic told him it was they who were coming towards him.

  Rather than call a halt, the two men in the lead urged their horses into a canter and quickly ate up the distance to Cade. Cade kept his hands up. He wasn’t afraid of being run through. This army wouldn’t harm a boy, no matter whom they thought he supported. Belatedly, he realized he’d forgotten to check the horse for markings that declared his allegiance and glanced down regretfully at the horse’s caparison, which showed a barry of argent and azure with an orle of martlets gules, as his tutor would have said, otherwise known as blue and white horizontal stripes with red birds around the edges. It was the sign of the Valence family.

  Too late.

  The knights reined in, the second circling around behind Cade’s horse to prevent his escape back the way he’d come. He’d expected it and still kept his hands up. “I am Cadell ap Mathonwy, a prince of Wales.”

  As openings went, he figured it was a good one—and so it turned out to be, since the knight walked his horse another two feet closer to study Cade. He wasn’t wearing his helmet and was in size and shape a contrast to the man who’d come with him. Then Cade blinked as he realized he knew him. “Venny!” He turned in his saddle. “Mathew! It’s me, Cadell!”

  Venny blew out a breath. “I recognize you now, my prince, though you’ve grown since I last saw you.” He reached forward as if to grab the reins of Cade’s horse, as he would a child’s, but stopped himself at the last second and eased back. “How is it you come to be here?”

  Cade had contemplated various stories to explain his presence, but decided, now that he recognized the man in front of him as a captain in David’s guard—and a friend of Sophie by her own admission—he opted for the truth. “I’ve just returned from Avalon, where I went with Sophie. She stayed behind, and I came back with two people you wouldn’t know: Michael and Livia. They have been captured by Aymer de Valence!”

  He said the last words all in a rush, realizing Venny’s attention had been caught by the mention of Sophie and Avalon. He needed Venny to understand that how and why he’d gone wasn’t as important as what Cade needed from him now.

  “What did you say?” Then Venny made a sharp gesture with one hand as if to say never mind all the questions I want to ask. “Aymer de Valence? You’re sure?”

  “I saw him!” Cade gestured to the horse’s caparison. “This is his symbol!”

  Venny knew that, of course, and he looked past Cade to Mathew, who twisted in the saddle to look north. “How far away?”

  “A little more than a mile, in the village of Bury. There’s a moated manor house. Aymer captured Livia and Michael, and his men took them inside. I hid.”

  “Aymer didn’t see you?”

  Cade shook his head vehemently. “No.”

  Three more riders came cantering up, though two were sitting as if they’d been learning how to ride for only a fortnight, which was about right. Andre was doing better than George, and he reined in first. George took another moment to convince his horse he was in charge. The third man brought even more relief to Cade, as he was Welsh and one of his father’s men. His name was Rhys, and he had been one of the captives with Venny and Mathew at Beeston.

  “Cadell!” Andre said his name wrong, of course. “What’s going on?”

  “You can call me Cade.” Then Cade repeated what he’d said to Venny. He didn’t have to speak in Welsh since Rhys understood English well enough.

  Everyone else’s expression was grim, but George laughed. “Good for Sophie.”

  Venny didn’t look as if he thought it was good at all she’d gone to Avalon, but he didn’t say anything.

  By now, the marching men were almost upon them, and Venny gestured for the riders to start moving again.

  “Two miles isn’t far, and the men will pick up the pace if they know they have a mission,” Rhys said.

  Venny nodded. “Spread the word.”

  Rhys urged his horse into a canter and rode south along the edge of the marching men, shouting alternately in Welsh, French, and Saxon.

  Then Venny looked at Mathew. “Meanwhile, you and I should ride ahead and see what trouble our young prince is about to get us into.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  4 April 1294

  Livia

  “My husband will not harm yours. I promise.”

  “Can you say the same for Aymer de Valence?” The words came out more bitterly than Livia had intended.

  “He is not my husband’s liege lord, whatever Aymer himself thinks.”

  Livia wanted to believe her. They stood together in a much smaller room behind the great hall, with a fire burning in a grate. It appeared to be a more private receiving room or audience chamber, for when the lord didn’t want to speak of important things in front of everyone in the hall. Livia couldn’t stop thinking about the last look of determination, but also of resignation, that she’d seen in Michael’s eyes as she’d left.

  “There are many strange men in the manor today. I must apologize again for Aymer’s treatment of you.” Her expression turned bland. “My husband does what he must to protect his people.” They were still speaking in French.

  Livia looked down at her hands. “I apologize, my lady, if I am speaking out of turn, but how could he betray David? Your husband would rather have Balliol as king?”

  “No, he wouldn’t.” Amery’s eyes went to the door behind Livia, though Livia didn’t think she was seeing it. “Roger Mortimer came calling, both he and Lord Warenne. What could my husband do when faced with the two of them, insisting King David was dead? What good could we be to our people if we were dead for failing to submit?”

  Livia hadn’t considered the awful position the lesser lords of northern England had been put in by having the greater lords, who controlled lands nearby, as traitors. If they themselves didn’t have large numbers of men to call upon, they were well and truly stuck between a rock and a hard place. And with David first in Ireland and then in Avalon—or dead, as Mortimer and Warenne would have insisted—they might not have believed they had anybody else to turn to.

  Now Amery looked her up and down. “You need a bath, my dear, and food, clearly. Your husband hasn’t been feeding you?”

  No modern woman maintained Livia’s slim figure by eating. She had it easier than most, being tall and blessed with good genes, but that didn’t mean she knew how to answer Amery other than to say, “My husband is a good man, my lady. He treats me well.”

  Amery looked at
her curiously. “You love him.” It wasn’t a question. “I could see by the way you stood together that you were in accord with one another. You’re lucky.”

  Livia’s mouth fell open slightly. How she felt about Michael was certainly something she hadn’t put into words for herself, and her first impulse was to scoff, which would be a mistake since Amery believed Livia and Michael to be married. Instead, to divert the conversation, she put her hand on her stomach.

  “That’s not to say we have had much in the way of food today.” As if to punctuate the thought, her stomach growled. In point of fact, she was hungry. The bread they’d bought from the peasant woman seemed like a long time ago.

  “That’s what I thought. Come with me. We will avoid the hall.” She led Livia to another door, aligned with the first, but this one leading to a rear courtyard.

  Here lay the heart of the house, with chickens and pigs, the kitchen (judging by the smells of baking bread coming from it), and a washroom. Drying lines ran from one building to another, and a woman was busy draping linens over them. Livia knew from her reading that most people in the Middle Ages had only two outer dresses, though Amery would have more, but changed their underthings daily. The village women would bring their washing to the river, rather than hauling water to their homes, but in a manor house such as this, a washroom was necessary. Given how often it rained in England, a sunny day like today was an opportunity to wash and dry everything possible.

  The sight of all the people moving about gave Livia real pause. She turned in a circle, her eyes on the wall-walk and the battlement. Men patrolled it, but only one that she could see wore the Pilkington colors. All the rest wore Aymer’s red birds. She swallowed hard and walked the rest of the way into the two-story building Amery had led her to, which turned out to be the family’s personal living quarters. Like the great hall, the ground floor had a central fire and a table, but a large loom took up a quarter of the space, and there was a second floor above them, which was really more like a loft, with a railing that ran around three sides of the house.

  “My lady,” Livia straightened her spine, literally and figuratively, “you don’t know Aymer de Valence the way I do.” The memory of his eyes came to her again, and she shivered.

  Amery turned to look at her, in the act of motioning to her steward, a man of sixty, to place the tray of food and drink he carried on the nearby table.

  Livia cleared her throat. “If you did know him, you would have ensured that every one of your people had already found safety outside the manor house. They can’t stay here. You can’t stay here.”

  Amery frowned and came closer, clearly unbelieving and seeing no cause for the alarm Livia was feeling. “Aymer is a spoiled boy. He is nothing.”

  “A spoiled boy with an army of men and an inflated sense of his own worth.”

  Amery scoffed. “He hardly has an army.”

  “How many men does he command compared to the number your husband garrisons here?”

  Amery hesitated. “We pay five men-at-arms. Others among the servants are capable with a crossbow.”

  “Aymer de Valence has twenty that I saw. If he wanted to take the castle, if he wanted to kill my husband—or yours—what could you do to stop him?”

  “He wouldn’t dare.” Amery was trying to be dismissive, but Livia could see she’d made her think.

  A woman hustled in with a bucket of steaming water, which she poured into a bowl set on a side table.

  Amery waved a hand, as if to dismiss both the servant and Livia’s concerns. “Please, wash, and then we will eat.”

  Livia took a step and caught Amery’s wrist. “Can you bar the doors of this house?”

  Amery didn’t quite shake her off. “Yes, of course. This building is meant to be the last defense of the manor.”

  “Gather your people, all of your people, in this house. Right now. Quietly.”

  Amery gazed into Livia’s face. “You mean it? You really believe us to be in danger?”

  “I do.”

  And then, as if at that very moment Aymer meant to prove Livia correct, a man pounded on the door they’d come through. “Open up!”

  Livia ran to the door to put her shoulder against it, motioning as she did so for the steward to bring her the bar to drop across it, which he did. When they’d entered the house earlier, the door had been latched behind them, preventing unauthorized entry, but not barred. Meanwhile Amery put both hands against the planks, her head bent, “May I ask who’s there? There are ladies present.”

  “Open the door, or by God I’ll break it down!”

  “Just a moment!” Amery was wide-eyed and breathing quickly, but she was already organizing the servants to carry the large table to the door to block it further.

  Meanwhile, the steward set off at a run for the rear door, which remained wide open, exposing the house to the yard beyond, though all Livia could see from this far inside the great room was the curtain wall. Livia hiked her skirts and beat him to it, having freed her gun from its holster in the process.

  Just as she reached the door, however, one of Aymer’s men came through it, though such was his confidence in his power over a community of women and children that his sword wasn’t even in his hand. When he reared back, surprised at having almost bowled her over, Livia smashed the butt of her gun into his temple. It staggered him, but then the steward, who’d picked up the bar for the rear door, swung it at his head, and he went down.

  Livia stepped through the doorway and looked left and right. Four men ran along the top of the wall right in front of her, and she could hear more men shouting on the other side of the house, which must be the reason why only one man had been tasked to breach the back door. The rest were occupied on the wall.

  She gestured to one of the washerwomen, waving her hand in a frantic motion. “Come! Quickly!”

  The woman could see the activity on the wall as easily as Livia, and she grabbed two fellow servants and a stable boy, who were within hailing distance, and they hastened past Livia into the house.

  Livia turned to the steward. “Bar the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone you don’t know ... and even then, make sure it isn’t a trick!”

  “What about you, my lady?” The steward still held the bar in his hand, a piece of wood four feet long and two inches thick.

  “I’m going after my husband.”

  The man protested, as of course he would, but Livia was already peering around the corner of the building. When she glanced back, the steward had closed the door, and she heard the satisfying clunk of the bar being placed across it.

  She dashed across the yard to the washing house, and from there to the back of the great hall, thankful with every step that she had acquired her dress from a peasant and looked the part. Nobody paid her any attention. They were all focused on what was happening outside the manor’s walls.

  Rounding the corner, she was just in time to see Aymer himself come out of the great hall with four other men, dragging Michael along with them. His wrists still weren’t bound, though two men held him between them, their hands grasping his shoulders and upper arms. Even if Michael had mad karate skills, there were too many men for him to fight off. Aymer stalked in front, dressed as before in the full regalia of a knight, though this time he held his sword in his hand.

  Then Roger Pilkington burst from the front door of the hall. “Aymer! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Aymer turned back to Roger, giving Livia full view of his face. His eyes had a wildness to them, worse than before, and he was livid. She wanted to shout at Roger to run, that confronting Aymer was the last thing he should do. But they were too far away, and it was too late anyway.

  “I’ve had enough from you.” With a sweep of his left arm, Aymer backhanded Roger across the face with such force that he fell hard on the gravel of the courtyard. Roger was lucky Aymer had just enough self-control left not to run him through.

  Instead, Aymer turned back to the wall, stalking away a
s before, leaving Roger bleeding from the mouth. But at least he wasn’t dead. Not yet. Aymer mounted steps that took him to the wall-walk above the gatehouse, and then stood at the top, staring out. His men followed with Michael.

  Livia ran to Roger and crouched beside him. “Where are your men?”

  “Two are up there.” He indicated the rampart. “It appears their allegiance has changed. I don’t know about the other three.”

  “What has riled everyone up so?”

  Roger snorted laughter. “Didn’t you hear? Some young pup has brought an army to surround my manor. I suppose I should have listened to your husband. King David does love him after all.”

  Livia looked to the wall-walk and the line of men facing away from her. The walkway had no railing on this side, so she could see their backs clearly and the way Michael’s belly was pressed against the stones of the rampart.

  A voice wafted to her from the other side of the wall, faint but clear. “I am William Venables, captain of the King’s Guard. I require you to open the gates to us.”

  William Venables. Venny. This was Sophie’s friend, who had been one of the captives at Beeston.

  That meant George and Andre might be on the other side of that wall too, men Livia didn’t know except by hearsay. To his credit, Chad hadn’t broadcast the identities of everyone on the plane to the world, but David had met them and had spoken of them with respect.

  Aymer was ready with a standard reply: “Leave immediately, or your man will die.”