Anna occupied herself with fruitless speculation about what the English might be planning. Some kind of attack on Castell y Bere seemed likely, but it seemed equally impossible for them to have brought enough men this deep into Gwynedd for a frontal assault.
The sun began to set. Darkness would make their journey back to the castle more treacherous, but it would allow them to sneak closer to the camp and perhaps learn something about what the English were doing in Wales. Anna worried that Gwladys would miss her soon, but had no remedy for that. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only forty-five minutes, it was dark enough and Hywel stirred.
“Lady Anna, it is time,” he said.
They crawled from the bush and Anna followed Hywel up the hill, crouching low and moving slowly. It was hard for Anna to keep on her feet in the slippery snow. She lost her footing more than once, falling to her knees and silently cursing, before struggling upwards again. Once at the top, they found themselves on the edge of the camp but well out of the firelight.
Hywel squatted behind a prickly bush and gestured to Anna to stay behind him. She peered over his shoulder at the camp which bustled with men, all wearing unadorned, white surcoats, perhaps in an effort to blend in with their surroundings. Anna counted forty men and an equal number of horses, but few tents. Apparently, most of the men would spend the night on open ground, as they had during the journey from Cilmeri with Papa.
A small group of men conferred around one fire. They spoke quietly, without laughter. One of them had a big red beard and by that alone Anna would have known he wasn’t Welsh. Three others had been waiting near a tree, and the bearded man signaled to them to join him. As they approached, he rose to his feet and spoke. The men nodded and then broke away. One of them headed for the horses, and the other two walked straight towards Anna and Hywel.
The two friends looked at each other, trying not to panic, and shrank lower against the bush. Fortunately, the men didn’t see them but veered towards the trees just to their right. They stopped about fifteen feet from where Anna and Hywel hid and when Anna realized what they were doing, she closed her eyes in dismay. Men must have amazingly small bladders! She couldn’t block out the noise, but then didn’t want to, because the men spoke to each other and she could hear them clearly.
One of the men said, “So this Rhys will give us the castle as easily as that? We can walk in before dawn and take it?”
The other man snorted. “These Welsh traitors will sell their own mother if the price is right. They’re good for nothing. Their women can’t even heat a man’s bed.”
The first man laughed. Anna was glad Hywel couldn’t understand the words, even if there was no mistaking the tone.
“That Welsh princess will be like the rest. Better that after tomorrow she spends her life under Edward’s thumb!”
Anna swallowed a gasp. She couldn’t believe it. She knew from her mom that the English had kidnapped Gwenllian in the old world after Papa died. And here it was, happening right in front of her.
The two men finished their business. The instant they reentered the firelight, Anna backed down the hill, tugging on Hywel’s cloak to get him to come with her. She didn’t want to wait to find out more. Hywel caught her urgency and slid after Anna. When they reached the bottom, they ran hand in hand through the snow, keeping each other upright. It took twenty minutes to find their horses in the dark forest. Hywel untied the reins and threw Anna up on Madoc’s back. She started to protest, but he shushed her and took Madoc’s lead. Anna lay flat against the horse’s neck to avoid the low branches on the trail. Hywel led them until they reached a place where both could ride upright, and then they took the shortest road home as quickly as they dared in the dark.
Less than an hour later the bulk of Castell y Bere came into view and Hywel stopped. Anna looked up at it, uncertain what needed to happen next. Hywel turned off the main path and stopped.
“Can you tell me now what was said?” he said. “You think we’re in danger?”
“One of the Englishmen said that a traitor named Rhys will turn the castle over to the English before dawn,” Anna said. “Do you know of whom he speaks?”
Hywel coughed, choking on his fear. “Rhys is the captain of the castle garrison that remains. If he’s a traitor, then it would be a simple matter for him to let the English in. They could even enter through the front gate! No one would be the wiser until the castle was under English command.” Hywel contemplated the wall in front of him. “Did they name other traitors? Did they say anything else?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t hear, Hywel,” Anna said. “They said some unpleasant things about Welsh women, but after they threatened Gwenllian’s life, I didn’t want to stay and hear more!”
“Gwenllian!” Hywel said.
“We must stop them!” Anna said.
Hywel looked down at his feet, then scuffed at the snow, revealing the fallen leaves moldering underneath. “I don’t know how, Lady Anna.” He refused to look at her, and his voice sad and regretful. “I’m only a stable boy and I don’t know who we can trust if we can’t trust Master Rhys.”
Unfortunately, he had a point. Anna knew many of the women, but all the men with whom David and she had ridden from Cilmeri were with the prince at Dolwyddelan. As a matter of fact, Hywel was the only male at Castell y Bere with whom she had any acquaintance at all.
“Then we must get her away,” Anna said, trembling more from anxiety than cold. “We have no choice. And we’ll have to do it tonight because we don’t know exactly when they’ll come. It’s likely they’ll move quickly, rather than risk detection so close to the castle.”
Hywel rubbed his face with both hands. “By the saints, how can we?”
“If I find a way to take Gwenllian out of the castle, will you come with me?” Anna said. “Will you help me?”
Hywel took his hands from his face. “Of course, my lady. I don’t see any other choice either. If you misunderstood their intentions, Prince Llywelyn will have my head, but if you heard correctly, and we do nothing, I may die anyway. I would rather die on the road with you, than cowering in the stables having turned Prince Llywelyn’s daughters over to the English.”
“Good,” Anna said, relieved. “Now we must return to the castle. Tonight, when all is quiet, I’ll bring the baby and, hopefully, her wet nurse, to the stables. We can leave by the postern gate. Perhaps with so few men available and treachery on his mind, Rhys won’t have as many guards posted.”
“I would rather not trust to hope!” Hywel said. “But I’ll find provisions for the journey to Dolwyddelan. That’s where we’re going, right?”
“Where else?” Anna said. “Do you know the way?”
“I know it,” Hywel said. “I was born in the forest just south of Dolgellau. If we can get there, we can hide ourselves off the main road in the remains of the shepherd’s hut where I was born.”
“How far is that from here?”
“More than ten miles. It’s nearly forty miles to Dolwyddelan. If we had fast horses ...” Hywel’s words trailed off.
“But we have only Madoc,” Anna said, “and we shouldn’t take the main road.”
“No.” Hywel sighed, and then straightened his shoulders. “We should go in. I will meet you near midnight. Say your prayers before you come.”
“I’ll do that, friend.” Anna placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for helping me. Thank you for trusting me.”
Hywel bowed, as gracefully as any courtier, and led the way through the still-open gate into the courtyard of the castle.
Chapter Eight
David
There was something about sleeping on the road again, this time in a tent David shared with Math, that kept him in a constant state of anticipation. It was cold, it was snowy, and he loved it. Before noon on the third day out from Castell y Bere, the keep of Dolwyddelan appeared above them. It guarded the pass into the Conwy Valley. In the old world, it was here that Dafydd ap Gruffydd, Llywelyn’s brother,
had retreated after Llywelyn died at Cilmeri. Uncle Dafydd had escaped before the English took it, but it only delayed the inevitable.
An hour later, they clattered through the gateway. Dolwyddelan was smaller than Castell y Bere, with only two towers (instead of Castell y Bere’s three). Regardless, the courtyard seethed with men and horses, a fraction of the thousands of men camped in the valley just to the north of the castle. Llywelyn ap Gruffydd had an army.
“Come, son.” Father stood at David’s stirrup, his hand on Taranis’ neck. “You must meet your uncle before he marches.”
Father’s fifty men wouldn’t strain the provisions of the castle because at least two hundred cavalry and a third of the foot soldiers were preparing to move out at that moment, heading north and then east to the Clwyd River. Father believed (and Anna concurred) that Edward would head west from Rhuddlan Castle along the north shore of Wales, before advancing south towards Dolwyddelan through the Vale of Conwy. He had thousands of foot soldiers and hundreds of knights and men-at-arms and the Welsh would meet him somewhere between Dolwyddelan and the coast.
“Yes, sir,” David said. His heart beat a little faster at the thought. He and his traitorous uncle would be fighting together; fighting against the English. David decided that the latter fact alone was enough to make his heart pound, and that he shouldn’t worry about meeting a man who’d proved false far too many times (he’d even once tried to assassinate Prince Llywelyn), even if he was on Father’s side now.
They entered the great hall, with its massive fireplace set against one wall. Many men must have slept there the night before, but now it was nearly deserted, except for a small group of men gathered around a table at the far end.
They all looked up as David and Llywelyn entered and Father lifted his hand to greet them. One man, dark like Father, broader in the shoulders but not as tall, separated himself from the group.
“So, you’ve come,” he said.
“Yes,” Father said. “It’s time to face what King Edward has in store for us.”
“The King left Rhuddlan last night with seven thousand men.” The man reached Father and they clasped forearms. Then they both turned to David. “Your son,” the man said.
David held out his hand. “Uncle Dafydd,” he said. “I’m glad to finally meet you, sir.”
“You share my name, I believe,” Uncle Dafydd said.
“Yes, sir,” David said.
Uncle Dafydd nodded, pleased it seemed. He probably didn’t know that David had been named for the other Prince Dafydd, David’s great uncle, who’d ruled Wales from 1240 to 1246.
“The weather remains cold, even on the coast?” Father said.
“Yes, for now,” Uncle Dafydd said. His expression was so fierce, David had to stop himself from taking a step back but then he realized that the emotion was not directed at Father, but at Edward.
“You have reason to believe a change is coming?” Father said.
Uncle Dafydd nodded. “Another week, maybe less, and we’ll see a thaw. The fishermen assure me of it.”
“Well, they would know,” Father said. “When do you leave for Denbigh?”
David realized that was his father’s third question in a row. David couldn’t think of another time his father had asked anyone so many questions. Even if the conversation seemed unnatural and stilted to David, he could see how it could be a deliberate strategy on Father’s part to show his confidence in his brother.
It better not be misplaced, Uncle Dafydd. You’re the one who fought beside Edward all these years.
“Within the hour,” Uncle Dafydd said. “As we agreed, my men and I will ride north and east to take Denbigh from Lacy. In anticipation of a thaw, we will then cross the Clwyd and besiege Rhuddlan until it falls. You must prevent Edward from returning north with his full force, or this entire endeavor will fail.”
“We will,” David said, surprising himself. The words had just popped out. Uncle Dafydd’s tone had bothered him—as if somehow he supposed that Father didn’t know what he was doing. Of course, David had no idea what he was doing, but Uncle Dafydd didn’t know that and David sure wasn’t going to tell him.
Father put a hand on David’s shoulder and nodded at Uncle Dafydd. “We are agreed then,” he said. “Leave Edward to me.”
On the road, Father had confessed to David that he’d joined Uncle Dafydd’s rebellion initially out of a sense of despair. In June of last year, Father had lost his wife and with her, at well-past fifty, any hope of a son to carry on his rule. He loved Gwynedd, loved Wales, felt a kinship with the land itself. He spoke of this love with a passion, not too different from patriots in America, hundreds of years later.
“Did Mom ever talk to you about the American Revolution?” David asked him later, once they were alone in his chamber which, unusually, they were sharing because the castle was so full.
“She explained to me that your country has no kings and had won the right to govern itself from England at the point of a sword. She didn’t discuss the details,” he said. He sat in a chair and stuck out his foot. David obliged as his squire.
“Well,” David said, grunting with the effort of removing the boot, “our circumstances here are much the same as the Americans of that time. We were taxed, subject to unfair laws, and forced to suffer indignities imposed upon us by the King of England and his soldiers.”
“And they were still doing this five hundred years from now?” Father said. “Sadly, I’m not surprised.”
David laughed and dropped the boot to the floor. “The first president of our country was a man named George Washington. He was hard pressed through a long winter, with little support and fewer men. Many were dying from infectious diseases and dysentery. He feared that many of the men wouldn’t re-enlist at the New Year unless he had a victory to show them, so he concocted a bold and unexpected plan.”
“Ha,” Father said. “I like the man already.”
“On Christmas night, he rowed his men across the Delaware River and force-marched them to a town called Trenton, where the English mercenaries were sleeping off their meal. Washington’s men attacked shortly after dawn and completely routed the enemy. Nobody suspected that they would attack on Christmas night—and in such bitterly cold weather.”
Father stretched out his legs towards the fire and put his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. “Your Uncle Dafydd tried something like this, with great success, on Palm Sunday last year,” Father said. “Unfortunately, Christmas is past.”
“It is bitterly cold, though,” David said. “I understand that five years ago, during King Edward’s march through Wales, he cleared the land of trees and settlements so that we couldn’t ambush him—so we couldn’t use what in the modern world we call ‘guerilla warfare’.”
“Yes,” Father said. “I assume he will do so again, yet I’m loath to meet him on the open field. He has more cavalry than we do, more soldiers in general, and more experience with moving armies great distances.”
“Yet, the English are far from home,” David said. “They’ll be marching with their supply lines stretched out behind them. They expect to besiege us and force us to sue for peace. What if we were to divide our men into small groups and attack them at night? They may have cleared the trees around their camps, but they still have to sleep, and we know the terrain.”
“My castles are my strength,” Father said. “I am loath to abandon Dolwyddelan.”
“I didn’t mean that you should,” David said. “But we can maximize their weaknesses. How many rivers does Edward have to cross to reach us here?”
“About eight.”
“How far can our archers shoot? I’ve heard many times that they are the best in the world. I’m suggesting that we use them; that we plan a systematic, guerilla-like attack to whittle down the English numbers and demoralize them at the same time. We can blow through the English at their most vulnerable moments—when they ford rivers and at night. Yes, we need Uncle Dafydd to take Rhuddlan, but
even more we need to drive the English away.”
Father sat up straight, his hands gripping his knees. “I like it. I’ll like it even more if it starts to rain as promised.”
“Why?” David said.
“Because the rivers will rise, the ground will become as soggy as a bog, and his men will be camping in the rain without a fire or succor.”
“Of course, then, so will we,” David said.
“Yes. But we like it.” Father was looking at the fire as he said these words but then glanced over at David. He was only half-joking. “Our men will know that the weather is our ally.”
Pause.
“How worried are you?” David said.
“It may be a near thing. This isn’t a comfortable world you’ve fallen into, my son.” He hesitated. “We may not live through this.”
“I know,” David said, though he’d not spent a single moment thinking about it. He couldn’t.
“Don’t think on it,” Father said. “We’ve still several days and many miles between us and Edward. We’ll prepare as best we can, and pray, and wish for the kind of luck that we’ve rarely had in the past but which seems to have found us here at last.”
* * * * *
Uncle Dafydd and his men vanished into the east. David had a moment’s pang of fear that he was gone forever, defecting again to Edward. Uncle Dafydd had already done that twice. It was the kind of thing none of those loyal to Llywelyn could forget or forgive, no matter how sincere Uncle Dafydd seemed now.
Father introduced David to more of his men, many of whom had walked or ridden to Dolwyddelan from every corner of Wales. David stayed at his side, and when he wasn’t with him, he was with Math or Bevyn. Father had decreed that David was to captain a company of men: foot, archer, and horse. It wasn’t that David felt ready, but as Prince of Wales, it was expected, and anything less from him would have invited comment and implied a lack of trust in his son on Prince Llywelyn’s part.
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