Unbroken in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  The news wasn’t unexpected, but it was still unwelcome.

  The city of Angoulême was located on a plateau above the surrounding countryside. An escarpment acted as its primary defense to the west, and it was protected on the north side by the River Charente. At one time, no fortification had defended it to the south and east besides an old Roman wall. Earlier in the century, however, a second fortress, in addition to the castle, had been built at the southeast corner of the city, and a wall now surrounded the entire settlement. If things went badly later, likely Callum wouldn’t be able to get everyone out of the city. But because the builders of Angoulême had dug a tunnel from the castle to the southeastern tower, and then another that led out of the city, in the direction of the army that was coming towards them, some might be able to escape.

  Until Callum’s scouts had reported the presence of French troops on their doorstep a few days ago, nobody had wanted to believe that King Philippe was really going to attack Aquitaine. It seemed absurd and unnecessary. For Callum’s part, he’d been to war, and he knew what it was, and like any sane person would have preferred never to have participated in battle again. A pipe dream, it seemed.

  He put the binoculars to his eyes, and found his hands trembling slightly. Telling himself to get a grip, he stared at them for another second, and then returned his gaze to the landscape.

  “We’ll make quick work of them.” Count Hugh de Lusignan, the ruler of the region at which Angoulême was the center, stepped up confidently beside Callum.

  Hugh was in his mid-thirties, though he looked older, with a streak of white coming from his widow’s peak. He had been the ruler of Angoulême since the age of eleven when his father had died. Like most noblemen, he had pride coming out of his ears, but he was also a practical man, and he appeared to have accepted the change in leadership in his country, even if it meant losing power himself.

  That said, the coming election of Aquitaine’s parliament didn’t change the fact that he still owned most of the land in the region and remained extremely rich and influential. As a member of Aquitaine’s House of Lords, he was still likely to have enormous say over the governing of the country—more perhaps than when all he’d ruled was Angoulême.

  But first they had to defend it.

  “It’s Robert d’Artois who commands down there. He won his first battle when he was barely twenty. We would be wrong to take him lightly.” Cassie held out her hand for Callum’s binoculars, and he handed them to her before stuffing both hands into his pockets.

  He wouldn’t have minded her seeing his hands shaking, but he didn’t want Hugh to think he was afraid. Showing confidence was a requirement for leadership. The French had more men than they did, and never before had Callum cared so much about whether he lived or died. Having a child, who even now was safe asleep in the keep with Bridget and her daughter, Elspeth, had turned his world inside out. Since Gareth’s birth, Callum had carried around a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach that he was self-aware enough to know was fear. When it had been just him in Earth Two, or him and Cassie, living here and working for David had been a terrific challenge and a new adventure every day. Now, however, their survival mattered.

  It was no wonder MI-5 encouraged early retirement for officers with families. At the time, he’d thought it an archaic practice, specifically designed to discriminate against women.

  He understood now.

  The trembling hands had started six months ago. Callum assumed it was a return of his PTSD, which did tend to rear its ugly head at inopportune times. But Abraham was worried it was something a little more medical, like multiple sclerosis or early onset Parkinsons, and he’d warned Callum that stress could exacerbate both. There were drugs that would help, though none of them existed in Earth Two.

  Callum’s parents had died of cancer at far too young ages. He’d always figured that would be the way he’d go.

  Then again, his hands could be shaking because he was genuinely fearful. His ego wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t worse.

  “They have cannon.” Callum managed to keep his voice casual as if remarking on the weather.

  “Though David was hoping not to use them, so do we,” Cassie said.

  She was right. They had weaponry that would make the French look like they’d brought a knife to a gun fight. But the French cannon were no joke either. There had never been any possibility that the introduction of more modern military hardware from Avalon into Britain could have escaped notice. A version of the cannon had actually been invented in the twelfth century and introduced to Europe in the thirteenth, but cannon hadn’t been used with any success on the battlefield until the Hundred Years War—fifty years from now.

  The French cannon had been seen yesterday when the French army had forced the river at Touvre to the east of Angoulême. And they knew the French had done that only because the castellan at the fortress there had sent a man riding hell for leather to let Callum know what was coming towards them.

  David had marshaled an army in Aquitaine, but they couldn’t control the entire border, which was hundreds of miles long. What they could control were the forts and cities along it. Angoulême and Château Niort, the ill-fated battlements from which David had fallen with King Philippe two years earlier, were linchpins in their defenses. If the French took either, they could pour into Aquitaine like water over a broken dam. Niort also had its own cannon atop its walls—along with archers and crossbowmen—but any attack was more of a fight than they wanted.

  Just as it would be here.

  “How many cannon?” Callum asked, since Cassie still had his binoculars.

  “I count six.” Hugh moved down the wall-walk, his eyes fixed on the lights of the enemy forces. Within the last fifteen minutes, the French had arrived en masse, and now there were so many fire circles and torches, the entire skyline was lit. Artois wasn’t hiding, Callum would give him that. “They cannot be allowed to take Angoulême. We would never get them out again.”

  “We won’t let them,” Callum said. “They’re not close enough to do anything yet.”

  “We have cavalry,” Cassie said softly. “We could attack now before they dig themselves in—but we’d lose men.”

  Callum put an arm around her shoulders. “We can’t be afraid of that. Aquitaine would lose far more if we don’t stop them here.”

  “I see more fires farther east.” Cassie gave the binoculars back to her husband. “I’ll say it only once, but I hate this. It’s absurd to think any battle will be the last one, but I keep hoping.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  She reached out a hand to smooth the line of his jaw, which he’d been clenching. These days, he needed a mouthguard when he slept and/or counseling—but neither of them were something he could run to earth at a local clinic.

  She’d also spoken in English, so not for Hugh’s benefit. Normally they were careful about public displays of affection, Cassie’s inclinations tending towards more demonstrative than any English person ever felt comfortable with. But now he kissed the side of her head and pulled her to him fully, so her arms went around his waist.

  Every marriage had its difficulties and trials, but in theirs, problems rarely arose because of something between the two of them but were a product of the world they lived in: Earth Two’s constant warfare and betrayal, the strictures placed on women, and the narrow-mindedness. Mostly, Cassie shrugged off what she couldn’t change, but sometimes, especially when dealing with a nobleman who turned up his nose at her unconventional mindset—or a situation like the one they were facing now—a wild look came into her eyes that told him at any moment she might run for the hills.

  She never did, and in Callum’s more sane moments he knew she wouldn’t abandon him—abandon them, now that they had Gareth.

  Hugh returned to where Cassie and Callum stood, and they eased apart so as not to make him uncomfortable.

  “Just to be clear, I’m correct in remembering that Duke David
was supposed to have arrived in Paris tonight?”

  “Yes,” Callum said.

  “So on what grounds do the French cross the border?” Hugh asked. “As far as the world knows, David is to surrender Aquitaine and then Philippe to return it. Why then are we facing battle tonight. Even if what you say will happen does, Artois can’t possibly have heard about it yet. As far as they know, we aren’t yet in rebellion.”

  “As far as we know, we aren’t yet in rebellion.” Callum stilled, putting his hands on the stones of the battlement and studying the lights of the French army. Until Hugh had pointed out the problem, he hadn’t seen the arrival of the French forces in that light.

  While it was true that once David surrendered Aquitaine, any military action against France, including defending Angoulême from attack, would be seen as an act of war, nothing had changed as yet. And, until Philippe betrayed them all, David remained the Duke of Aquitaine. The French were within their rights to build up as large an army as they cared to muster on the other side of the River Charente—but not to cross it, not without cause.

  “So what are they doing?” Hugh asked.

  “They’re preparing for war anyway,” Cassie said. “Philippe was never going to give Aquitaine back. To Artois, the element of surprise is worth far more than the pesky details as to who owns the duchy. He’s telling us King Philippe’s intentions loud and clear.”

  Hugh snorted. “He’s naïve if he thinks we are unprepared.”

  Cassie put a hand on Callum’s arm, speaking softly, “We must always remember that Philippe has no idea we can see the future.” She gave a little tsk under her breath. “I myself am having a hard time keeping straight what has already happened, what we think is going to happen, and what is happening now.”

  “My lord!” A runner pounded up the steps from the courtyard below and came to a breathless halt in front of Callum. “Word from the Paris Temple.” He held out a scrap of paper with Bridget’s scribbled writing on it.

  Initially, the short-wave radios Chad Treadman had packed into the plane had been entirely overlooked in favor of the two-way radios, the weaponry, and the medicines. Andre and George hadn’t even known what they were until Rupert Jones had looked through the gear, found them, and fist pumped at the sky. They’d been using radio technology for years to communicate from castle to castle throughout England and Wales, but the gorgeous machines Chad had sent were light years ahead of what they’d been able to rig together.

  Rather than needing line of sight like regular radio waves, short waves bounced off the ionosphere and allowed for communication across truly long distances—continents even. Angoulême’s radio had been set up in the keep, with a windmill and solar panels providing electricity and battery charging. Elisa had a second radio at the Paris Temple, and the third remained in London. All three stations could communicate with each other at will.

  If nothing else had told everyone involved the importance of the mission, it was bringing two of the three radios into France and risking them falling into Philippe’s hands. They weren’t mobile like phones, but they were close.

  Callum read the note once, and then read it again before looking up and answering the expectant looks in Cassie’s and Hugh’s faces. “David surrendered Aquitaine tonight, and Philippe didn’t give it back. By law, we are now in rebellion, even if we are the only ones who know it.”

  “It’s like in the American Revolution,” Cassie said, speaking first in English and then switching to French, since there was no reason to hide her thoughts. “We will all hang together, or we’ll all hang separately. Patrick Henry.”

  Hugh wasn’t used to treating women as equals, much less seeing them in the garment Cassie was wearing, which was half dress, half pants, but he’d learned over the last year that if he wanted Callum’s attention, he needed to listen to his wife. “I don’t know this Henry of whom you speak, but Duke David said those very words to me on the occasion I last saw him. I hadn’t entirely realized how it applied until now.” Hugh’s tone remained remarkably mild, more musing at the prospect of hanging than actively worried.

  Callum appreciated Hugh’s calm demeanor. They might well need it sooner rather than later. Raising the binoculars to his eyes again, he focused on the opposing force. As Callum watched, an enemy trooper pushed back a tarp that lay over the frame of a wagon, one in appearance much like those used during pioneer days in America. Two more troopers near him held torches, so Callum could clearly see him setting up a machine gun on a tripod in the center of the bed.

  “You’d better take a look at this,” he said to Cassie.

  This time, when he handed the binoculars to his wife, his hand shook a little more.

  Chapter Twelve

  Day One

  Christopher

  While Nogaret huddled with the Bishop and John Jr.’s dad, Christopher urged his friend into a genuine retreat.

  “Don’t you want to know what’s going on? The King of France is missing!” John Jr. was a little shorter, so he had to take more steps to keep pace with Christopher. The door seemed two miles away.

  “Of course, I do,” Christopher said, “but as I have been reminded repeatedly, we have to keep an eye on the mission. You got us a place at the table tomorrow, and that’s what we came here for. If the King of France is actually missing, instead of just out for a walk on the battlement, one of the maids or our other people here will tell us.”

  “I still think we should have stayed,” John Jr. said.

  “And risk having Nogaret ask us questions?” Christopher shook his head. “He isn’t much to look at, as my dad might say, but he is one scary dude. It’s one thing to stand in a huge crowd, just one of a couple hundred other noblemen, and quite another to meet him face-to face at the moment there seems to be something going wrong in the royal court. Let Romeyn do it.”

  John Jr. stopped arguing, since their quick steps had carried them out of the audience hall and into the courtyard, at which point Christopher slowed. “That said, why don’t you wait out here for just a little bit. Loiter, as Callum would say.”

  “Me? What are you going to do?”

  “A circuit of the palace.”

  John Jr. made a face, but didn’t argue, knowing as well as Christopher how important it was to be certain they had all the necessary information before reporting back to the Paris Temple. He might even find the king before Nogaret did.

  “If nothing is happening and you get bored, you don’t have to wait for me.”

  John Jr. scoffed. “Of course I’m going to wait. I’m not going to leave the Hero of Westminster alone in the middle of Paris! Your mother would never forgive me.”

  He had spoken in English, but Christopher shushed him quickly. “We agreed not to mention that. Besides, I know my way back to the Temple.”

  John Jr. had been timid with his father, but he was far less so with his friends and said flatly, “Really? What about the time you crossed the wrong bridge and ended up on the left bank instead of the right? I swear you turn the wrong way every time, which I don’t see how is possible. You would think you had an even chance of being right, but you never are.”

  Christopher might have protested that wasn’t entirely true. He’d led his friends on foot across Ireland, in the dark, while being pursued. He hadn’t gotten lost on the way to Skipton Castle. But what John Jr. meant was that Christopher had no sense of direction inside a city. It was the same at King of Prussia Mall, like he was enclosed in a box with no sense what was where, much less east or west. No wonder malls had all but disappeared by the time he left Avalon.

  “Okay. It’s your funeral.” Though as Christopher spoke he regretted the choice of words.

  They could joke about all sorts of things, but what they were doing right now was pretty far out there, and a funeral for any of them wasn’t that outrageous a proposition.

  Christopher did have a pretty good mental map of the palace by now, however, in part because he’d worked hard to memorize its layout
before they’d come to Paris, and in part from experience. He’d come to the palace in three different guises over the course of the last month: as his current persona of Christophe de Clare; as a wine merchant’s assistant, delivering casks and barrels; and even once, when the steward was needing extra help for a large banquet, as a server in the great hall, having applied at the back door with a dozen others.

  The benefit of having such a huge number of servants associated with the royal court, not to mention hundreds of noblemen and hangers-on, was that it was easy to become a part of the woodwork. As long as you never behaved out of the ordinary, nobody would look at you twice.

  Though what he wanted most was to go directly to where David was being held, it was better to start his patrol on the southern side of the palace, the one overlooking the left bank. He could then follow the wall-walk to the northern side. He almost hoped to actually run into King Philippe, though he never would give him a piece of his mind.

  Since this time Christopher was clearly a nobleman by stance and dress, no servant stopped him or questioned what he was doing. As Callum had explained during Christopher’s training, the more you were seen in a place when it wasn’t important, the more those around you would grow accustomed to the sight of you, and not question you or stop you, when it was.

  Coupled with the advice to always look like he knew what he was doing, Christopher felt he’d come a long way towards projecting confidence he didn’t necessarily feel.

  Having worked his way from the ground floor to the third, seeing nothing of note, Christopher was about to make his way along the battlements when he passed a last latrine before the stairwell. He needed to use the bathroom often when he was nervous, and he’d drunk a lot of water before he’d come tonight, knowing it might be hours before he had any more. He ducked into the latrine, and was pleased to find it was as he remembered: private, with only one seat and even a little window, by which he could look out at the night lights of the city across the river. He checked the view of the safe house on the left bank, noting with pride that his dad was keeping to DG protocol and not even a glint showed from the upper floors.