Footsteps in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  “And scared too,” Anna said.

  “Petrified,” Mom agreed. She pushed open the door to the living quarters and they both sighed. Warmth. “We need to see about a midwife. When are you due?”

  “Early July, I think.” They shared a look. “I don’t want to lose another one,” Anna said in a low voice.

  “It happens, sweetheart.” Mom hugged Anna to her. “Even in our world, all we can do is pray.”

  Anna eased back. “Can you tell me, when you came to Wales the first time and met Papa—can you tell me what happened with you? Papa explained it from his perspective, but—”

  “Llywelyn rescued us from the car, and from then on he was my entire world,” Mom said. “He couldn’t have been more different from your father—successful, decisive, thoughtful, intelligent—sorry, but there it is—and I loved him.”

  “But he didn’t marry you then,” Anna said.

  “I wasn’t of noble birth,” Mom said. “It wasn’t possible. Not in the Church.”

  “Have you talked with David about it? About ...” Anna paused, trying to think of how to ask her question without judging.

  “About the fact that King Edward would look down on him for being illegitimate?” Mom said.

  “Yes.”

  They reached Mom’s rooms and entered, shedding their cloaks. Gwenllian, so grown up now at two and half, napped in a trundle bed in the far corner. Mom went to her first, her hand hovering above the blonde head, before returning to a seat in front of the fire. “David can be a bit judgmental.”

  “Not to mention hard on himself and others,” Anna said.

  “That too,” Mom said. “He certainly doesn’t regret being born and nobody regrets his existence. What was hard for me was being forced to leave Llywelyn; what was hard was raising him by myself. I also know—and assured David—that Llywelyn would have acknowledged him in an instant had he been born in Wales. We were married in our hearts, even if the politics of the time forbade it.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He was glad that Fychan could no longer humiliate him,” Mom said.

  Anna laughed. “I told him once that even if we were home, and he lived perfectly every day of his life, he’d still need to learn tolerance for others when they fell short of his expectations.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he was trying.”

  “As Prince of Wales, he needs that skill,” Mom said.

  Chapter Four

  David

  Something was wrong. David could tell from his father’s stance, and from the solidity of Goronwy, as if he’d grown roots and was prepared to stand forever at Father’s shoulder. The members of the council were waiting in the great hall. If Father’s absence continued any longer, they’d know something was wrong. But still, neither of them moved.

  “You said we’d take a short break when the messenger came in, but it’s been an hour.” David closed the door of his father’s office behind him. “What is it?”

  Finally, Llywelyn turned. His face showed more lines than David had seen in his face in a while—not since Cilmeri. David’s presence had rejuvenated his father. Mom had rejuvenated him, but the spark was gone.

  “Dafydd,” Father said. The word came out as a croak.

  David moved closer and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. He wanted to grasp him, to hold him up. He seemed so weak.

  “Not you, Dafydd,” Goronwy said. “Your uncle.”

  Christ! “What’s he gone and done?”

  “He’s left us; defected again,” Goronwy said. “To Edward.”

  “But ... but ... that’s insane!” David said. “Why would he do that?”

  “Why has he done it in the past?” Father said. “Why did he try to kill me once? It seems he can’t help himself.”

  Goronwy and David settled Llywelyn into his chair; then Goronwy turned to David. “Your uncle Dafydd may be irrational, but I’ve noticed an unhappiness brewing within him these past months as our peace negotiations with Edward have progressed.”

  “It’s me, isn’t it?” David scrubbed at his hair. “My presence steps on his toes.”

  “Your uncle Dafydd is no longer your father’s heir,” Goronwy said, “and with every month that passes, you prove yourself more capable of stepping into your father’s shoes. Your people will follow you when he is gone.”

  “So by returning to Edward, he hopes to change the balance of power such that Edward defeats Father entirely?”

  “And then places Dafydd himself on the throne of Wales,” Goronwy said. “That is my guess, yes.”

  Crap. That’s not going to happen.

  Father took in a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Right. What’s done is done. This changes nothing for me. It gives Edward no more leverage against us than he had before. My people will not defect to Dafydd any more than they would follow Edward.”

  “I agree, Sire,” Goronwy said. “Edward’s negotiators might try to use this to subvert the peace process, but as far as I’m concerned, Dafydd can rot in England for the rest of his life. Edward can keep him and good riddance.”

  Father nodded. “Both previous treaties required me to take him back if Edward was to sign them. When you speak to the Archbishop next, Goronwy, you tell him that giving Dafydd back his lands in Wales in exchange for peace is off the table. He has abandoned his lands and his people twice already. He will not play us for fools a third time. My patrimony will not be held hostage to his treachery.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Goronwy bowed.

  The wedding festivities weren’t quite as jubilant after that, though the lords who attended were as adamant as Father that this act of Uncle Dafydd’s was the final straw: no peace treaty with Edward was going to include Llywelyn’s brother ever again. Many had followed Uncle Dafydd on and off over the years; even those who hadn’t thought much of him had cheered his rebellion back in 1282; and even more had re-evaluated their views later when Llywelyn took the reins of Wales again.

  “But Llywelyn’s cause was never your Uncle Dafydd’s cause.” Mom twitched her skirt to adjust its fit.

  “Can’t you talk about something else?” Anna straightened Mom’s train, which she’d described as a ‘rich blue’. “You’re getting married in five minutes!”

  David ignored his sister, though he had to admit that his mother looked very nice. “Uncle Dafydd thought only of himself; Father, though prideful—”Anna shot a scowl at him, although David knew this to be true, “—thinks first of Wales.”

  “Who’s the English lord who sent that nice note congratulating you?” Anna said. “Nicholas something?”

  “Sir Nicholas de Carew,” Mom said. “He has a big castle along the south coast of Wales in Deheubarth.”

  “He saw the writing on the wall,” David said, “and appears to have interpreted it exactly the opposite from Uncle Dafydd.”

  “It helps that he’s the son of a Welshwoman and married to another,” Mom said.

  “Leastways, he’s promised to hold the south for Father,” David said. “I want to believe him.”

  “Llywelyn—and probably you—” Mom eyed David, “—will have to see for yourselves come spring. Your uncle was privy to Llywelyn’s strategies, his plans, the disposition of his men and the horses at his disposal, and his vision of the future. All of which he has given into Edward’s hands.”

  Footsteps sounded along the corridor and Goronwy poked in his head. “Are you ready?” He caught sight of Mom and his eyes widened, and then he smiled. David wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Goronwy smile, except maybe at Anna—and especially not like that.

  Mom nodded. David, for his part, wouldn’t ever forget the conversation he’d overheard—by accident, he swore—the night his mother returned:

  “I have chosen you,” Llywelyn said. “And that should be enough for every one of my subjects. It is certainly enough for me.”

  “Are you sure, Llywelyn? Really sure?”

  “I love yo
u more than I can possibly tell you.”

  Mom wrapped her arms around Father’s waist and pressed her face into his chest. “Sixteen years is a long time to wait. But I waited.”

  “God put you in my path and has swept you along with me for a reason,” Father said. “I will never turn my back on what He has given me.”

  * * * * *

  In April, with the onset of spring, David and Llywelyn made plans for a new campaign which would combine two aims: the need to patrol the kingdom and Llywelyn’s desire to more fully establish David as his heir, with his own authority, out from under his shadow. David would start by making a circuit of Gwynedd, including stops at Dolwyddelan and Dinas Bran where David would leave the increasingly pregnant-looking Anna. Math was already there, having taken charge of the rebuilding of the castle after the English had tried to destroy it back in 1282.

  While David held the north for his father, as Llywelyn had once asked Uncle Dafydd to do, Llywelyn would travel south along the coast of Wales to Deheubarth to see for himself the progress the lords there were making in ridding Wales of the English. After joining Carew and the other power there, Lord Rhys, Father would head east to gauge how the war was going closer to England, in the March.

  The March was the border region between England and Wales (including the traditional Earldoms of Chester, Shrewsbury, and Hereford, as well as Pembroke, Norfolk, and Gloucester in south-eastern Wales). English lords ruled these lands as almost-kings. The Welsh had hated them for centuries. Although he hoped to carry the war into southeast Wales, Father’s plan was to contain the English and to prevent them from building up their strength to attack him.

  Powys was also of concern for him, partially because it was closer to Gwynedd, and partially because it was controlled by the Welsh lord, Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn. Amazingly enough, Gruffydd had taken to the new rule of Wales with passion and vengeance. Gruffydd had actually taken Dolforwyn Castle for Father (who, after all, had built it), and Buellt Castle, near where Anna and David had saved Father’s life. Father was apprehensive, however, not wanting to trust all these potentially fair-weather friends too far, and especially not the luck that seemed to be holding.

  Looking at the maps, it was hard to remember that Wales was only 140 miles long and 50 miles wide in the middle. It was the roughness of the terrain that made Wales difficult to conquer, not its overall size.

  The night before everyone left, Llywelyn called his children and his wife into his study for one last conversation. “Foremost in your mind should be the strengthening of Wales,” he reminded them. “Do we have men who are able and willing to more actively join our cause? Who has contacts in England who can spy for us against the English? Just because a man isn’t a soldier, doesn’t mean he can’t serve us.”

  David nodded, understanding his charge, and the need for it.

  “Dinas Bran is ideally located for access to information from England,” Anna said.

  “You are correct in that. All the Welsh can help, which leads me to my other concern,” Father said. “I’ve spoken with the Bishop about admitting Jews into Wales.”

  Mom’s face lit. This had been of particular interest to her. Although Edward himself didn’t yet know it, he was about to start a long-term pogrom against the Jews, culminating in his decree in 1290, six years from now, that banished all Jews from England.

  “What did he say?” Mom said.

  “He has agreed not to condemn them, and to consider welcoming them. We must go slowly. This idea is new and unprecedented. I realize that your mother looks far into the future, but I cannot always see what she does from where I sit.”

  Father shifted in his seat. Mom and Anna sat together on a bench against one wall, with David beside them in a chair. Llywelyn’s eyes went to each of them in turn. “Foremost in my mind is to unite the people of Wales and the Bishop has promised to promote that idea. The problem with war, as you must know by now, is that it is eminently destructive. Peasants are caught between armies in war. Their crops don’t get sown and their children starve. In Wales, unlike in England, all men must be warriors, else we have too few to hold off the English. It is reasonable, then, to ask a man to take sides and the Bishop agreed that he would encourage his priests to try to explain that to their flock.”

  David shook his head. “How am I to rule after you, Father? There’s so much I don’t know and don’t understand. Half the time I don’t even know the right questions to ask!”

  Llywelyn smiled. “Son, you will be a great Prince—perhaps even the King of Wales one day. They’ll name you ‘Fawr’, like my grandfather.”

  David didn’t contradict him, having learned by now it was fruitless, but didn’t see how that could possibly be true.

  Chapter Five

  Anna

  Mom, David, and Anna left Aber on a clear day that for once didn’t have a cold wind with it. Anna could almost believe it wasn’t going to rain soon, but as this was Wales, it always did. As the crow flies, it was less than twenty miles from Aber to Dolwyddelan, but they wouldn’t be traveling as the crow flies. David intended to take a week to make the journey.

  Along the way, they’d stop at every hut and hamlet. David would stand for Papa as arbiter and judge in any dispute, Aaron would attend to any ailments, having improved his Welsh considerably in the six months he’d lived in Wales, with Anna herself assisting. That way, she could also translate for him if he needed it. Mom planned on being, as she called it, Papa’s ‘Cheerleader in Chief’.

  Anna was excited to get moving, but for some reason, Mom was apprehensive and not at all herself. Anna thought at first that she didn’t want to leave Papa or Gwenllian, but when she asked her about it, she furrowed her brow and complained about the weather and its effect on her skin. For the first time, Mom had found lines around her eyes and on her forehead. Aaron snorted into his cuff at that and promised to concoct a lotion for her to counteract that as soon as he was able.

  Anna turned to look at her and then it dawned on her what day it was. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

  Out of nowhere, Mom gave Anna a brilliant smile that was a sharp contrast to her glum look a moment before. “And if I weren’t so stubborn, I would have told Llywelyn and he would’ve done something for me. But then I might have to talk to all the well-wishers about exactly where I was born, and who my father was, and so far, nobody seems to be asking those questions, at least not to my face. On top of which, I’m thirty-eight and getting old, and can’t seem to do the math to figure out in what year I’m supposed to have been born.”

  “It’s 19—” Anna said. “Oh ... I guess that would be 1247.”

  “Ha!” Mom looked away but she was smiling.

  It occurred to Anna that her mother might be suffering the same way Anna herself had when she first came to Wales. In truth, except for Papa, David, Anna, and sometimes Aaron, there was no one for her to talk to. Mom had plenty to do as the Princess of Wales, but as she and Anna had lamented many times, twenty-first century women just didn’t fit in well in the Middle Ages. It wasn’t so much that men treated women poorly, but that they didn’t expect anything important of them, beyond an ability to raise children and run a household (which wasn’t unimportant, even if some men dismissed it). Men didn’t talk to women.

  Anna had discussed this with David, and he’d understood, even sympathized. For his part, he had plenty of male friends and acquaintances because they mostly talked about what they’d done that day, or what the plan for the next day was. With the older men, all David had to do was get them going about some battle or other that they’d been in, and there were no awkward silences.

  The drawback for the three of them was that beyond superficial conversation, they had little in common with anyone. It wasn’t so much that people weren’t smart, because many were, especially within their own sphere of knowledge; it was just that they were ignorant. Everyone saw the sun rise and set every day, but those from the twenty-first century knew how and why, and the rest d
idn’t.

  Anna had the same problem with the girls who lived at court—it was really hard to make friends with them. As soon as she actually tried to have a conversation, it became clear that they didn’t know how to think about things.

  David was young and male, but it bothered even him, since he might have liked a girlfriend. To David’s embarrassment, Anna had been present for Mom’s lecture on the subject: “Most girls are less interested in you, David, than the fact that you are the Prince of Wales.”

  “I know that, Mom,” he’d said.

  “Bearing your child would set any one of them up for life.”

  He’d been mortified and refused to talk about it with Mom anymore. When Anna told Math of it, he’d laughed. “He’s a Prince of Wales. Your mother needs to let him do what he wants. More than most princes, I, for one, would trust his judgment.”

  When they reached the first little village, nestled in the crook of a river, Anna and Mom gazed down at it from their vantage point on the ridge above.

  “I don’t know about this, Mom,” Anna said. “I grew up in Oregon. How can I be a princess? It isn’t like they voted for me or anything. I’ve lived here for just two and a half years. It isn’t like I really understand them at all, yet I sit with Math as the lady of the castle.”

  “That’s one reason for making this trip,” Mom said. “We all have the same problem. There’s a limit to the changes we can make. This isn’t a democracy and never will be, not in our lifetime or your children’s. The people are uneducated and thus ill-equipped for self-rule. David’s job is to campaign for Llywelyn’s vision of Wales. Your job is to support him and counsel Math.”

  “I don’t think that helps, Mom,” Anna said.

  “Why is it you speak of democracy in Wales?” Aaron asked from behind them.

  They turned together as Aaron walked his horse closer. “I apologize for speaking out of turn, but I couldn’t help but overhear.”