“The prince’s daughters?” the man said.
“Yes, yes!” Anna nearly collapsed with relief.
“Praise God!” the man said. “Riders from the south brought word that you were either dead or taken by the English! They captured Castell y Bere, slaughtered the garrison, and turned the rest out into the snow. They burned the bodies and the castle and left all in ruins. None of those left alive knew what became of you.”
“Slaughtered the garrison ... Gwladys ...” The world began to darken around the edges and Anna swayed. She gritted her teeth and put her forehead into the horse’s side, determined not to pass out.
The man dismounted and took Heledd from Hywel. “Get on the pony.”
Hywel leapt on Madoc, and the man passed Heledd to him.
Then he mounted his horse again and leaned down to give Anna his arm. Confused, Anna stared at it. Obviously the man was insane.
“Take my arm,” he said, patiently. “I am Mathonwy ap Rhys Fychan, nephew to Prince Llywelyn. I will take you to Dolwyddelan.”
Anna reached for him and with a heave, he pulled her in front of him without even squashing Gwenllian. Then, he grasped her waist, lifted her, seemingly without effort, and settled her side-saddle in front of him. Gwenllian stirred, and Anna patted her back to calm her.
“You are not well,” Mathonwy said. “The air is cold, yet your face is hot and flushed.”
Anna put a hand to her forehead and felt the heat of fever. “How did you find us?”
“Word reached us this morning of the fate of Castell y Bere. Your father sent scouts to determine how far into Gwynedd the English have pushed, as well as to seek word of you.”
“Hywel and I stumbled upon the English encampment while we were riding. We overheard their plans and fled the castle before dawn, the day of the attack, with Heledd, the baby’s nurse.” Anna paused to look back. “Is she still living?”
“Yes,” Mathonwy said, “though she’s very ill. You too are fevered and I must get you all to the prince quickly. It won’t take long. We’re not far from the castle.”
As he spoke, Mathonwy gathered the reins in one hand and steadied Anna with the other. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. She told herself it was only for a moment but she was running hot and cold at the same time and just wanted to sleep.
They rode through the blowing snow and Anna would have dozed off, but for Gwenllian’s increasing restlessness. She was hungry and Anna was sure her clothes were wet beneath the blankets. Anna pulled her woolen hat further over her ears, tucking in stray blonde curls in the process.
Finally, a shout came from Dolwyddelan’s ramparts. Mathonwy tightened his grip on Anna and urged his horse faster. Another shout came and the gate to the castle burst open. Half a dozen men cantered toward them, David in the lead. Relief flooded through Anna at the sight of him and she sat up straighter. David turned his horse to ride beside Mathonwy.
“My lord Prince,” Mathonwy said.
Anna canted her head to look at David.
He glared at her. “Anna.”
She flopped a weak hand at him. “You’re angry again. Don’t be angry.”
David had the grace to look chastened. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I did what needed to be done,” Anna said. “I’m sorry you were worried.”
“Sorry?” His voice rose again. “We lost a castle and a dozen men, but somehow we didn’t lose you or Gwenllian. I can’t understand how it is that you’re here, safe, with Math.”
“It was a long road, David, and Heledd is very ill,” Anna said. “Hywel helped too—I couldn’t have made the journey here without him.”
David glanced back at Hywel, who looked up, his eyes clear and awake, despite the deep shadows under them.
“Let her be, my lord,” Mathonwy said. “She’s ill too.”
David seemed to gather himself. “Thank you, sir, for rescuing my sister.”
“I believe she rescued herself, my lord,” Mathonwy said. “I merely came upon her at the last pass.”
“I was about to give up,” Anna said.
“I don’t believe that, my lady,” Mathonwy said. “Maybe you would give up for yourself, but not for Heledd or Hywel or Gwenllian.” Anna tipped up her chin to look into Math’s face. He smiled down at her. “You are too much of a Welsh princess to give up.”
Anna began to reply that she wasn’t really a princess—not even Welsh for that matter, though she didn’t think she should go into that just now—when they clattered across the wooden bridge that led through to the gates to Dolwyddelan Castle.
As on that first evening at Castell y Bere, people filled the bailey. Prince Llywelyn waited at the top of the stairs to the keep and hurried down the steps to greet them when they rode in. Mathonwy bowed his head. One of the women hurried over and reached up to take Gwenllian from Anna. Grateful, Anna passed her off, but as Mathonwy dismounted behind her, Anna found herself falling off the horse. He caught her before she’d fallen far, and even though Anna thought to stand, he wouldn’t have it. With her in his arms, Mathonwy led the way into the great hall, David and Prince Llywelyn following behind.
Chapter Ten
David
The rain had poured down all night long, plunking on David’s helmet until he thought he’d go mad at the constant noise. Fortunately, the rain was so loud, the English couldn’t hear the unnatural sounds of rain on metal. All six thousand of Father’s army had moved in the night and spread out along a ridge facing west, so as to overlook the Conwy Valley all along its length. The sun had begun to add a hint of light to what had been a very dark night, and would rise fully within the hour. Father had hoped to attack sooner, but no one—Welsh or English—had been able to see his hand in front of his face until five minutes ago.
In summer, the Valley had some of the richest farmland in north Wales. At the moment, it was a fifteen mile-long bog, in which seven thousand English soldiers camped. Father had assigned David’s company to the southernmost end of the English lines. David peered at them from the trees, a tenth of a mile from where the English had camped.
Although the English soldiers didn’t know it, they’d set up camp closer to the woods than they should have, further from their fellows than they should have, and with fewer men than they should have had, fewer than one hundred. The men huddled under blankets in the rain, with neither fire nor tents. They had to be praying that the rain would stop but also had to know in their hearts that it wouldn’t. This was winter in Wales. The fishermen had been right about the weather, and in another minute the Welsh would begin to make the English pay for their hubris and conceit in attacking Castell y Bere, thinking they could conquer Wales while David’s father lived to defend it.
With Anna’s arrival in Dolwyddelan, what had started out as a strategy had turned into a mission. Two days ago, the snow had stopped falling. The morning had dawned bright, crisp and clear, unusual for Wales at any time. Taking it as a positive sign, Edward had marshaled his army and headed into the mountains in earnest, following the east bank of the Conwy River. By evening, however, the wind had begun to blow from the southwest and almost imperceptibly at first, the weather began to warm.
It’s not uncommon in Wales to have an early thaw after a month of hard winter. Within six hours, the temperature had risen thirty degrees, rain began to fall, and snow to melt. Edward’s advance slowed considerably. Having cleared the path of trees to minimize ambush, the army was forced to march through mud, all the while aware that the mountains, inside which the Welsh remained safe, loomed above them.
Edward then found himself in an even worse situation, because the rivers swelled with the rain and melting snow. Within a day and a half of setting out from Llansanffraid, his men were caught in a flood, the army stretched out nearly the entire distance to Conwy Falls with no way to go either forward or back. On one side was the Conwy River, preventing their advance to Dolwyddelan Castle, and on the other side, half a dozen other river
s, including the Clwyd, all in flood, blocking their retreat to Rhuddlan.
And now they were going to have to deal with the Welsh army. The men of Gwynedd were more than ready to launch an attack on their cold, miserable enemy. It wasn’t the soldiers’ fault they’d been born English and pressed into the service of the English king. But David couldn’t afford to feel sorry for them. If his men were truly to send Edward packing, they would have to make him pay first.
“It’s time, my lord,” Bevyn said. “We must start the attack in a moment.”
David nodded and followed him to where they’d staked the horses, well back in the trees. The English soldiers had sent out scouts of course, many of them, but the Welsh had ambushed and killed them all (they hoped) by an hour ago. Now the soldiers at every campsite in the valley would be wondering where their scouts were, and worrying.
David mounted Taranis and pulled his sword from its sheath. The plan was simple. Llywelyn had four hundred archers in the woods tonight, each with twenty arrows—more than enough to kill, within three minutes of shooting, every man that Edward had brought, though they’d never be that lucky. What they could surely do was sow panic.
David’s company comprised twenty-five mounted men and a dozen archers, hidden in the trees and gullies on the other side of the hundred yards of cleared space that separated the woods from the encampment. A hundred yards was nothing to an archer, who could fire upwards of ten arrows a minute. In one minute, the dozen archers could shoot seventy-two arrows. But today they were aiming (quite literally) for accuracy, and they were going to hold themselves to a steady six.
Bevyn and David decided to give the archers two minutes to work, and then the cavalry would charge out of the woods. They intended to cut a swath through the English camp, turn around, and head back the way they’d come. They did not mean to kill all the Englishmen, or to take prisoners, but to disappear back into the woods, leaving a path of destruction in their wake. Ideally, this same scenario would be taking place simultaneously up and down the length of the Conwy Valley. There were at least twenty companies the size of David’s, and many others that were larger.
Father commanded a company further north where the English encampments were more numerous and closer together. There, the foot soldiers would be put to use, to run screaming across the cleared space, hacking at anyone in their path, and then retreating to the woods on the other side. The Welsh would take casualties.
David’s mind shied away from that thought, and perhaps it showed on his face, because Math said, “All men must face the time when they see death coming. Each must prepare himself for battle as he will. Some become angry, some empty themselves of all emotion, some never conquer that fear and fight afraid.”
“What do you do?” David said.
“I hold an image of those I love in the front of my mind and every slash of my sword is a blow struck against those who stand between them and me.”
“I’ve never been this afraid,” David said. “I’m finding it hard to hold any thought at all.”
“Empty yourself of everything but this moment, then,” Math said. “Give yourself up to your senses. Acknowledge your fear, embrace it even, and you will find you have power over it. Your Father told me that you should meet him at his hunting lodge at Trefriw by noon. I intend to see you do just that.”
David focused on his breathing, as his sensei would have suggested. In and out; in and out; become aware of everything around you, the little noises of the forest, the rain, the stamping feet of the horses, then close the sounds off so that there’s nothing but you and your enemy; nothing between you and what you have to do.
“Fire!” Bevyn commanded. The archers released their arrows which flashed past in the gloomy dawn. David could barely see them, but despite the rain, he could hear them, a rushing sound that ended with screams from the English camp. Press. Loose. Press. Loose. Again and again they fired until those two long minutes passed and it was David’s turn to fight.
His sword pointed forward as a signal to his men, David spurred Taranis out of the woods. Math held position on his right, as silent as David. Prince Llywelyn wanted the soldiers to hear the hooves, but to have his men appear as ghosts, descending on the English out of the murk.
The clearing sloped downwards as David approached the camp and he crossed it in thirty seconds. The camp was already in chaos from the arrows, with those men who could stand fumbling uselessly for their weapons. David’s company hit them head on, Taranis taking down one man with his hooves and David slashing at a second man who failed to get out of the way. David killed him, and then killed another.
Eighty English, a hundred arrows, twenty-five horseman and there’s no one left standing.
David swung Taranis around, having come out the other side of the camp, his sword bloody in his hand and sweat mixing with the rain and running into his eyes. His men had destroyed the English camp. Bodies sprawled on the ground everywhere, the same as in the clearing at Cilmeri when Anna drove into it. Men screamed further downstream, hopefully from other successful attacks, while men on the ground in front of David moaned. And still unrelenting, came the rattity-tat-tat of rain on David’s helmet.
David found Math, still aboard his horse, Mael. Their eyes met and Math bowed his head. “My lord,” he said.
David spun Taranis around. “Do we know who’s down?”
“Morgan and Rhys,” the soldier nearest him said, “and one horse.”
“You, you, and you,” David pointed to three men whose names he couldn’t remember just now. “Collect them and the horses that are loose.”
The men obeyed. Others rode or walked from body to body, collecting weapons or kicking them out of English hands that still clasped them. One of the men David had pointed to slung a body over his shoulder while another helped him boost it onto the back of a riderless horse. David watched, trying to remember to breathe. Then he stood in his stirrups, his sword raised high. “We will withdraw to the west,” he said. “We cross the river at Llanrwst.”
Llanrwst had a usable ford, even with water this high, and Father meant for everyone to regroup on the west bank of the Conwy River. Although Father had been prepared to defend it, Edward didn’t appear to know the location of this ford. David settled in his saddle to wait for the company to reassemble. Raindrops hit his mail links and careened off at odd angles. Math dismounted to stand at his stirrup. He handed David a cloth. David looked at it, uncertain as to what Math meant him to do with it.
“To clean your sword, my lord,” Math said.
Oh. Unlike when he’d killed the boar, David felt no sense of jubilation, only a hollow thudding of his heart and a relentless purpose. Killed the English, check; gathered our dead and wounded, check. David wiped his sword, focusing hard on cleaning every last speck of blood from the blade. “I feel a little sick,” he said.
“Not here, lad,” Bevyn said, riding up to David. “We need to move now.”
David turned Taranis’ head. The ragged band entered the woods and trotted silently south towards Llanrwst. They’d gone a mile and were approaching the ford when another company materialized in front of them.
“Who goes there?” their leader said, in classic movie-ese.
“Prince Dafydd’s company,” Bevyn said, “riding to Trefriw.”
“All is well?” the man stepped out from behind a tree, his sword loose in his hand.
“Our attack was successful.” Bevyn tipped his head at David. “His father would not have him late.”
“My lord.” The man gave way.
Several hundred men jostled to get across the ford, more or less at the same time. Many companies had completed their mission for the night, far more quickly than Prince Llywelyn had hoped. Some had more casualties than David’s company, some fewer. It was the foot soldiers who might fare the worst. And Father. Where is he?
David rode through the newly established camp at Trefriw and up to the entrance to his father’s hunting lodge, dismounting amongst t
he bustle and activity. Math grasped Taranis’ reins when David dropped them. The rain still plunked on his helmet so he pulled it off and tossed it to the ground. He never wanted to wear it again. Anna came down the steps of the lodge, oblivious to the rain, the hem of her brown dress dragging in the mud. Math made a gesture with his hands, palms forward, as if to say to Anna I’ve delivered him, safe. The rest is up to you.
“What are you doing here?” David said. Both she and Heledd had recovered from their fevers, but David didn’t want Anna to get wet and cold again.
“David.” Anna held out her arms and after a moment’s hesitation, David walked into them. He buried his face in her hair and she wrapped her arms around his waist. He squeezed her tight, trying to both contain and release the emotion inside him. David thought he might even cry, but found himself incapable. He loosened his hold on his sister and Anna studied him, her hand to his cheek.
“What can I do?” she said. “You’re very pale, and a little green.”
“Here, lad.” Bevyn had been waiting behind David while he greeted Anna. “I’ve just the spot.” He took David’s arm. David wanted to shake him off, but that sounded like too much effort and he allowed Bevyn to lead him away. Before they’d gone two steps, David bent over, his stomach heaving.
Anna moved closer. David wanted to stop her, but his stomach wouldn’t let him. “Are you all right?”
“Not yet.” Math intercepted her. “But he will be, given time. As much as it’s possible for any of us.”
“It’s okay, Anna,” David said. “I’ll come find you in a bit.”
Math tugged Anna away, back towards the entrance to the lodge. “Come,” he said. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”
* * * * *
Edward wasn’t a fool by any means. He knew the Welsh wouldn’t just roll over and let him take their country, but it had been a long time since he’d been attacked in quite this fashion, and he’d never had quite as bad luck. Twenty-five years before, at the battle of Cymerau, Prince Llywelyn’s forces had soundly thrashed King Henry’s army, attacking at dawn, showering his men with arrows, ensuring that they couldn’t advance any further into Wales. The day after that, the same force had met the English army on the open field and killed more than three thousand of them.
Footsteps in Time Page 10