“We were sliding backwards down the hill when we hit the tree,” David said, impressed that he could tell which was the front and which the back.
“Oh,” Ieuan said, still thinking hard. “Then why was the chariot not splintered into pieces?”
“Because the people who built it designed the back to crush on impact, to protect the people inside,” David said, only listening with half an ear because he was still thinking about the keys.
Ieuan was opening his mouth to ask another question, when Bevyn raised his hand for silence. David froze. He heard ... nothing. And then, more than heard, he felt the thudding of horses’ hooves. As one, the company dropped to their haunches and David scuttled to Bevyn’s position. A dozen English cavalry rode across their field of vision, to all appearances preparing to make camp in the meadow, on the other side of the thin screen of bushes.
“Whose men are they?” David silently cursed himself for carelessness, and Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn for being incompetent—or a traitor.
“They wear the Earl of Hereford’s colors,” Bevyn said. “Bohun’s men.”
David did a quick survey of his men. Ieuan peered through the bushes a few paces away. David sidled over to see what he was looking at. More English. These were hunkered down over something on the ground that David couldn’t see from where he crouched.
“Tracks.” Ieuan mouthed the words at David. Our tracks.
Then Ieuan said, “Cadwaladr ap Seisyll was my great-great-uncle.”
“Um.” David knew all about Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon because he’d flown the dragon banner in the Dark Ages, but David hadn’t heard of this Cadwaladr before.
Taking pity on David’s ignorance, Ieuan said, “A hundred years ago, the Marcher lord William de Braose, this Earl of Hereford’s ancestor, murdered Seisyll ap Dyfnwal. Braose invited Seisyll to his castle for dinner and then killed him in cold blood. At the same time, he sent men to kill Cadwaladr, Seisyll’s son. Fortunately, Cadwaladr had been out hunting and escaped capture, though they killed his wife. Cadwaladr took to the hills and harassed the Braose lands until Braose captured and executed him two years later.”
David gazed at him, still not understanding.
He tipped his head at the English knights. “If one man can do so much, what can nine of us do?”
David had never heard of this Welsh Robin Hood, but Ieuan had a point and it was better than hiding here. The van caught David’s attention again. Ha! I’m sixteen now. I’m legal.
David scurried to the driver’s side door, which he’d left open. He pulled out his belt knife to cut away the airbag; then hopped into the front seat. He turned the key. Nothing happened. Was the battery dead? Even a new one might not last this long unused. David looked at the controls and realized Anna had left it in ‘drive’. Of course she had. David put his foot on the brake and shifted into park. He turned the key again. It coughed, coughed again, and then started.
David laughed. The miracles of modern science and a Toyota engine. He leaped out of the van and pulled at the sliding door, wanting to hurry because the English could hear the engine. David hoped its unfamiliarity would delay the English response and give them time to get away.
“Get in!” David spoke in the quietest whisper he could manage that still carried. Everyone had backed away when David had started the engine, but now Ieuan didn’t need a second invitation. He climbed inside while Bevyn herded the others in behind him. Everyone should try to fit nine men wearing mail hauberks into a minivan before they die. Fortunately, plate had yet to be invented so the men didn’t clank against each other and no one impaled anyone else.
With three across the back, one in the trunk, one in each of the captain’s chairs in the second row, Ieuan kneeling between the two front seats, and Bevyn and David in the front, they ‘fit’. Once everyone was inside, David eased the sliding door closed and had Bevyn gently latch his door. David climbed back into the driver’s seat, shifted into drive, and pressed the gas pedal.
The van rolled across the grass a few feet before David stepped on the brake and shifted into reverse. He backed the van all the way to the rear of the enclosure, and then shifted into drive again.
“Ready?” he said.
Bevyn’s smile had a wicked look to it. He nodded.
Someone shouted from the back, “Ieuan! Move your head, man. We can’t see!”
Ieuan ducked his head, but not so far that he couldn’t see himself.
“Okay.” David floored it.
The van sped across the grass. David aimed for the branch-covered gap through which Bevyn (and others) had pushed the van to hide it. The van burst through the bushes, already going forty, and rocketed across the clearing, scattering the English and their horses. Thanking his aunt in her absence for buying all-wheel-drive, and glad the van didn’t actually hit anyone to slow its momentum, David steadied the wheel. They picked up speed, careened up the incline (which Anna had slid down backwards), kept on across the meadow, and up the higher hill, towards where they’d left the horses.
Near the top, David braked and backed the van between two trees, out of sight of the English.
“Out! Out!” David would have liked to drive all the way back to the castle, but he couldn’t leave Cadwallon and the horses where they were, and it wasn’t as if there was a road suitable for driving on anyway. His company was more flexible on horseback.
David threw himself onto Taranis, took the reins, and then looked back down the hill to where the English cavalry stood unmoving, staring after them. David saluted with a grin, then led his men further up the hill and into the trees until the English were out of sight. None dared follow.
David was prepared to charge off to the castle, but Bevyn stopped him. “My lord! Wait! We don’t know if the English have surrounded Buellt, or if this is only a small advance party. We need care, not speed.”
He was right.
“Lead on,” David said.
The company circled to the north of the castle without encountering anyone, but a quick foray out from under cover showed that Hereford had indeed surrounded Buellt.
“At least the drawbridge is up,” Bevyn said.
“If Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn wasn’t on our side, we’d have lost the castle already,” Ieuan said.
“Who shall we send to my father?” David was liking Ieuan’s idea of Robin Hood more and more.
“We should all go, my lord,” Bevyn said. “We can do nothing more here.”
“We could cause trouble,” David said.
Bevyn shook his head. “I disagree, my lord. Better to ensure help comes. Only then can we kill some English.”
David wanted to disagree, but couldn’t. Of course he’s right. As usual.
* * * * *
David found his father’s men on the edge of the rugged mountain range to the west of Brecon, with Rhys ap Maredudd, his cousin Rhys Wynod, Nicholas de Carew, and their men. They’d camped in a spot that afforded a spectacular view of the lowlands of south Wales. Their grim expressions as David’s company rode into the camp, however, couldn’t bode well—whether for the Welsh or the English David didn’t yet know. Father had retired to his tent to read a missive a messenger had brought in minutes before. Goronwy greeted him and, leaving Bevyn to make disposition of the men, brought David to his father.
Goronwy and David ducked under the tent flap. Llywelyn looked well, but somber. He’d collapsed into a chair, the letter resting on his lap, held in both hands.
“Hereford’s men have surrounded Buellt Castle,” David said. “They may have already taken it!”
Father straightened in his seat, but didn’t answer, merely held out the parchment to David. “It is from the Archbishop of Canterbury. He thinks it’s time to affect a reconciliation between us, Edward, and the Church. He wants to include the Scots for some reason.”
David stared at him. His father’s words had pulled him up short and he glanced at the paper. It took a moment to shift gears and take in what was written there. �
�He can’t be serious. Not with Bohun on the offensive.” David passed Goronwy the letter.
“Perhaps he doesn’t know that the Earl of Hereford is on the offensive.” Goronwy quickly scanned the paper. “There’s no love lost between Hereford and Edward, and Hereford certainly doesn’t confide in the Archbishop.”
“But they’re all supposed to be meeting in Chester as we speak,” David said.
“When is the date set for this new council?” Goronwy said. “The one the Archbishop is planning.”
“The first of August, near Lancaster,” Llywelyn said.
“That’s some distance for both us and the Scots to travel,” Goronwy said.
“Such is my concern,” Father said. “I don’t trust Edward, even if he promises safe passage. We would be in his country, on his land. Why he doesn’t invite us to Shrewsbury and the Scots to Carlisle, I don’t know.”
“This bears some thinking about,” Goronwy said. “Perhaps Rhys would have something to say.”
“Ask all the lords to come here,” Father said.
David was bouncing up and down by now, anxious about Buellt, but before he could bring his father’s attention back to his concerns, the other men ducked under the flap and circled Llywelyn.
Goronwy handed Rhys the paper, who scanned it. “You cannot go.”
“Edward won’t like it if you don’t,” Carew said, having read it over Rhys’ shoulder.
“Perhaps he means to make peace—real peace,” Father said. “Is that something I should ignore?”
Goronwy pursed his lips. “I suppose it might be worthwhile to hear him out, if it would bring a true end to this war.”
“My concern is your person,” Rhys said. “Goronwy has been negotiating on your behalf for months. But Edward asks you to come to Lancaster without confirming he will sign the treaty.”
Carew had a finger to his lip. “What does that mean?” And then he said, “I’ve changed my mind. I agree with Rhys. You can’t go.”
“I agree,” Father said, “but someone has to. Dafydd must attend without me.”
Now it was Goronwy’s turn to shake his head. “I would rather you snubbed him, my lord, than put your son’s life at risk. He has no right to expect it.”
“I’m not suggesting this because I care about Edward or his expectations.” Father stood and began to pace around his tent, and when he spoke again, his voice was harsh. “He’s going to continue this war, or he’s not. He’s going to make peace, or he’s not.”
“It says in the letter that this is at the instigation not of Edward, but of the Archbishop of Canterbury,” David said. “It distresses him that you are excommunicate.”
“What distresses him is that the people of Wales and its government no longer tithe to his Church!” Rhys said.
“And he misses the power that our money brings,” Carew said.
“Ha! You have the better of it,” Rhys said.
My father’s sudden stillness drew everyone’s attention. “The Archbishop promises that if I come to Lancaster, he will intercede on my behalf with the Pope. He dangles this as a carrot in front of my nose, as if I were a donkey pulling a cart. He knows how important it is to me, and to Wales, that we are right with God. We and our Cistercian allies defy the Pope, but at what cost to our souls?” Father looked around at the men before him, who, to a man, didn’t meet his eyes, their laughter of before regretted.
Father continued. “Dafydd will go. If that’s not enough for the Archbishop—so be it.”
Everyone nodded, understanding that the discussion was over and no longer subject to questioning.
“And Buellt, my lord?” said Goronwy.
“That is now our first concern,” Father said. “I will ride to its defense. How many men besiege it?”
“Bevyn estimates a complete force of one hundred foot and perhaps fifty cavalry. More than enough, given time,” David said.
“How many defend?” Carew said.
“Gwenwynwyn himself, with thirty of the castle garrison, plus forty of mine,” David said.
“Oh.” Carew brightened. “Excellent.”
“Hereford will not last if we come behind him,” Rhys said. “It’s impossible to maintain a siege under those conditions.”
“We must move as quickly as we can.” Father nodded to Goronwy, who left the tent.
“Father.” David recalled the other subject they needed to discuss, “do you remember the letter I wrote to you about how Edward was preparing a new edict against the Jews?”
“Yes,” he said. “I understand Aaron went to Chester to discuss it with his brother and son.”
“Since I wrote you,” David said, “Edward evicted the Jews from London.”
“I’ve heard of this,” Carew said. “Edward cuts off his nose to spite his face. Would that they established their trades in Wales instead. We could rule the world.”
“What? Why do you say that?” Father said.
“My father had dealings with the Jewish traders in Bristol,” Carew said. “They had the best contacts in Europe of any merchants. Their wool, their cloth, their metalwork, was of the finest quality. My father and I may have disagreed about many things, but not this. He always regretted not being able to lure any to his holdings in Wales.”
“Why didn’t they want to come?” David said.
“Oh, well ... they’re city people, and Wales has no cities.”
“They’re coming now,” David said.
“Are they? That’s news indeed,” Carew said. “When and where?”
“A Jewish wool merchant and his family arrived in Dinas Bran before I left.” David turned to his father. “And three more families have settled at Dolforwyn. There may be more by now. They will come, if we let them and if we spread the word that they are welcome.”
“How many Jews live in England?” Father said, ever practical.
“Three thousand? Five thousand?” The other men looked at David in surprise. “It’s my mother’s guess. I don’t know how she knows.”
Father nodded, his hand to his chin. “We welcome them.”
Perhaps the motives were wrong. Once again, it was about a quest for money and power rather than a desire to do the right thing. But this was the thirteenth century, five hundred years before the Bill of Rights. Perhaps Mom was asking too much to champion freedom for all people, regardless of their religion. For now, it was a start.
* * * * *
The next morning, Father finalized his plans. Carew, for all his support, didn’t want to break off the pressure he was putting on the southern English castles. Rhys, however willing to fight, felt the same. He did offer to split his force and send twenty-five cavalry with Father.
Then Ieuan explained the story of his great-uncle to David’s men, who took to the idea of harassing the Earl of Hereford’s holdings with a glee and intensity that was disconcerting. Father thought the small company might be able to distract Hereford and make him reconsider his decision to besiege Buellt. And it would be good fun in the process, David’s men thought. Suddenly, David found it terrifying.
The stories of Robin Hood involved bravery and heroism, love and honor, but also the crucial elements of the victorious underdog triumphing over the evil powers that rule the land. What’s not to like? The Robin Hood concept, placed in the hands of a thirteenth century Welshman, however, became truly blood curdling. Cadwaladr ap Seisyll dropped everything from the story but honor—and revenge.
“My intent is to come behind Hereford’s men and break the siege of Buellt,” Father said. “If Hereford is concerned about your activities, it could play a role in how quickly he quits the vicinity. You must also be aware that he’s likely to retaliate.”
“What can he do?” one of the men scoffed.
“He might drive the people north, out of their lands, to make them a burden on us. Or,” Father said, “a very real possibility is that he’ll put all his effort into hunting you down, just as his grandfather did to Cadwaladr.”
“Then we’ll retreat into the mountains,” David said.
“You’ll have to be on constant alert,” Carew said. “The prince’s idea is a good one. He should have a role in this fight. I’m all for harassing Hereford where he lives.” Then to Llywelyn he said, “We will not fail you, sire. Your southern lords are more than capable of managing a successful campaign. We can continue to hold the lowlands for you, while you see to Powys.”
Father put his hand on David’s shoulder. “You’ll have six weeks before you have to leave for the council with Edward. Take your men and ride east to the Brecon Mountains. Bohun rules at Brecon Castle, and his vassal, Clifford, at Bronllys and Hay. Use your best judgment as to what will wreak the most havoc in those lands.”
If David could come to the council with Edward having shifted the balance of power in the Marches in favor of the Welsh, he could negotiate from a position of greater strength. The defeat of Hereford at Buellt was crucial, and the sooner everyone moved, the better.
Chapter Nine
Anna
Mom and Anna sat on a bench against a sheltering wall in the kitchen garden, herbs at their feet and a grape vine running up and over the lattice above their heads, providing shade against the summer heat. They were watching Gwenllian run back and forth along the paths, chasing butterflies. She’d come from Aber with Heledd, arriving in Dinas Bran just after David left.
“There’s something to be said for air conditioning,” Anna said, just as a suggestion, flapping her fan.
“I’ve never been heavily pregnant in the summer,” Mom said, “but I can appreciate the sentiment.”
“Mama!” Gwenllian called, coming to a stop. “Look!” A butterfly had landed on her wrist and was slowly flapping its wings, warming itself in the sun.
“Don’t touch it, Gwen,” Mom said. “It will fly away if you leave it.” It did, and after watching it flutter onto a climbing vine, Gwenllian settled herself under a bush to dig in the dirt with a stick.
Mom and Anna continued to sit contentedly, sharing a moment of peace. “Does Math feel anxious at not going south with David?” Mom said after a while.
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