Math glanced down at Anna, and then back to David. “How do we want to do this?”
Now that they were closer to the exit, Anna could hear sounds from outside the abbey—men shouting orders mostly. She took courage from the relaxed demeanor of the men with her who appeared unmoved by the threat. When she’d kissed Cadell goodnight earlier in the evening, it hadn’t occurred to her that she might face danger at the Abbey. And if Math or David had feared it, they would have been united in their refusal to let her come. Still, in the face of the quiet competence of her husband and brother, she felt calm too.
“So, is it Mortimer who threatens William?” David said to Bohun, still with his ear pressed to the door. “You never answered my sister’s question.”
Bohun shook his head. “You know what we in the March are like. These may be Mortimer’s men, but they could just as easily belong to Bigod or Vere. Any one of them could have had word we were coming here.”
“More likely, you have a traitor among your men,” David said.
“It’s Gilbert de Clare that’s got my father most worried,” William said, proving that his grasp of Welsh was excellent.
“Tch.” Bohun flung out a hand to his son. “Ah, Will, I wouldn’t go that far—”
Anna and Math exchanged a look that said, I would. While the flower of the nobility of England had died at Lancaster, as well as Papa’s brother, Dafydd, a few had survived, whether because they’d eaten less of the poisoned meal or from a naturally hearty constitution. Edmund Mortimer, his brother, Roger, and Gilbert de Clare had been among those who’d been made sick, but hadn’t died, although Gilbert had been in a coma for several weeks. He had almost been buried alive by those who found him, overwhelmed as they were by the number of dead.
“If it is Clare, he is someone to worry about,” David said. “His lands in Ireland and England are extensive, but he was one of the richest of Marcher barons too and lost more than anyone when you signed our treaty.”
“He does have the resources, and the drive, to put something like this into play,” Bohun said.
Both Humphrey de Bohun and Gilbert de Clare had been raised by Humphrey’s grandfather. Both Humphrey and Gilbert had fought with Simon de Montfort against the English crown in the Baron’s war, when Gilbert was only twenty-three and Humphrey sixteen.
But after Gilbert had been named a rebel and excommunicated by the Church, he had suddenly switched sides, joining Edward and his father, King Henry, as a valuable and powerful ally against the Bohuns. Humphrey’s father had died from his wounds at the battle of Evesham, the final battle in the war, and since then, Humphrey and Gilbert had hated each other. It was no surprise that they’d ended up on opposite sides in yet another war.
Anna saw real concern come into David’s eyes. “I’ve never been that impressed with Bigod, actually. To learn that it’s Clare—”
“We don’t have time to worry about who is responsible just now,” Math said. “It’s what, when, and where that most concern us.”
Footsteps sounded along the passage, moving at a run. Owain came into view, along with four other of David’s men. “They don’t overmatch us and we plan to give them more than they bargained for,” Owain said. “But we need to get you out of the Abbey before they discover this entrance. If Mortimer’s men get past us on the west side, the Abbey won’t provide you a safe haven.”
“That was my thinking,” David said.
With a glance at Math, who nodded, David pushed through the door.
They spilled into the graveyard, eerie in the moonlight and empty of enemies as of yet. Math pulled Anna to him and kissed her forehead. Anna clutched at his cloak. “Stay safe,” she said.
“Protect Anna and the boy,” David said to two of the men whom Owain had brought with him.
“Into the trees.” Math pointed with one finger, indicating the direction they should go.
“For the rest …” David took a moment to clasp Anna’s hand before vanishing into the shadows that cloaked the walls of the monastery, moving silently with Math and Owain, their steps muffled by the thick summer grass.
Anna allowed Bohun to pull her along, away from the church, William tight against his other side. The Abbot kept pace behind.
“Sweet Mary,” Bohun said. “To think my trust was so misplaced. Edmund has been my friend since we were boys. To think his men followed me here—to think Edmund would openly attack the Prince of Wales on his home ground.”
“He doesn’t think David should be the Prince of Wales,” Anna said. “Or that Wales should exist at all. You Marcher lords have always viewed my country as your private play ground.”
“You have a point, my dear.” Bohun showed a glint of white teeth, amused despite the duress.
Bohun pulled her and William behind a rickety shed on the far side of the graveyard and pushed down on their shoulders. They crouched just below the level of the long grass that had grown up between some of the gravestones. Summer flowers in pink and yellow, closed now that it was night, showed among the green. Anna recognized pimpernel and speedwell, and the red-dotted leaves of St. John’s wort.
Anna lifted her chin so she could see the Abbey. Nothing moved on their side of the church.
“Go, man,” Bohun said to one of the men David had left with them. “You’ll do more good over there than here. Now that we’re out of the church, I can protect them.” Both he and William held long knives down at their sides. Anna felt for her belt knife and pulled it out too. She would use it if she had to. She knew how.
“Neither of you wear a sword,” the man said. “My lord would have my head if I abandoned you.”
“How far did you ride today? Every one of you looks tired,” Anna said.
“It is an honor to serve the Prince of Wales.” The man’s chin firmed. “He drives himself harder than any of us.”
He looked away without answering her question, however. It was her experience that men often didn’t know how to answer her. She was more outspoken than most women and was willing to ask the questions she was thinking.
Anna’s ears strained for an indication of how the skirmish was going. Her heart constricted in fear for both of her men. She loved them and the thought of either of them not returning had her knees trembling. She’d learned to survive without hot showers or email. She would never ever get used to watching her men go off to battle.
“All will be well,” Bohun said, reading her mind. “Your son will not be left fatherless this night.”
Anna nodded and swallowed hard. Bohun sounded sure, but both of them knew that even the most valiant man could be felled by an errant blow.
A chorus of shouting sounded from the far side of the Abbey. The air was still enough that Anna could hear the swords clashing. It went on far too long. She wanted to straighten. It was painful not to know what was happening, but she didn’t dare move until Math returned. She and Math didn’t have a traditional thirteenth century marriage, but she knew better than to disobey him—or her brother—at a time like this.
Bohun was feeling it too. “By the Saints! I hate this waiting.”
Their guard put out a hand. “Stay, my lord.”
Bohun looked ready to spring to his feet, but before he could, Math appeared around the corner of the Abbey and signaled to them with a raised hand. One second, Anna was crouching behind the shed, and the next, she’d run forward and wrapped her arms around Math’s waist. She was able to take a deep breath for the first time in twenty minutes.
“Success?” Bohun brushed at the knees of his breeches.
“Yes.”
Anna pressed her face into Math’s neck. She knew what his tone meant. That one word told her how he felt about the night’s work.
“None of Mortimer’s men can live to bring news to England of my presence here,” Bohun said.
Anna twisted to look back at Bohun. His eyes glinted in the moonlight.
“That will be up to Prince Dafydd,” Math said.
“None of them ma
y see me,” Bohun said. “If my fellow barons knew that I had entered Wales to speak to your Prince …”
Math hitched one shoulder, as if to say you knew the risks when you came here. He didn’t say it, though.
Bohun closed the distance between them. “My men wear my colors. Mortimer’s men will know that I was here. They will report it to him.”
“I can only tell you to stay here until we leave with the prisoners and then head for England with your men, as quick as you can,” Math said. “It’s only a mile as the crow flies.”
Bohun’s jaw worked. David’s men had worn brown and green homespun, though, upon close inspection, the mail under their shirts would indicate that they were something other than simple men of the woods. Bohun hadn’t thought this through as clearly.
“Whether or not Edmund Mortimer acknowledged our treaty once, his men have broken it and are defeated,” Math said. “They will not see England again this month. By the time they do, our fight with Bigod—or Clare—or whomever leagues against us—will be over, for good or ill, and then we will decide what to do with them. Neither I, nor my prince, will kill any man unless we have no other choice.”
Bohun glared at him, but Math turned away, his arm still around Anna. His shoulders said, Enough! He stalked towards the Abbey. Anna clutched her cloak more tightly around her shoulders and then felt for Math’s hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it and squeezed.
“Are you okay?” Anna said.
Math didn’t speak American English, but he knew the word, knew what it meant to Anna. In fact, it wasn’t just Anna and David—or Mom and Bronwen—who used it these days. The word had spread in the thirteenth century, as it had in the modern world.
“Yes,” he said. “Or as okay as I can be right now.”
Anna glanced at William as he came up beside her. He’d left his father and Abbot Peter behind, standing together among the graves. William kept his head high, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the Abbey. He didn’t look back at his father. Anna didn’t remember her brother ever saying it, but it looked as if he and Bohun had an agreement. William was now in David’s charge.
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Crossroads in Time is available wherever ebooks are sold.
For more information about Wales in the Early and Middle Ages, please see my web page: www.sarahwoodbury.com
Prince of Time (Book Two in the After Cilmeri series) Page 28