Footsteps in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  On the nineteenth of July, the day before David intended to head for his castle at Denbigh, Math stayed with Anna all day because Mom cornered him and told him he wasn’t allowed to leave the castle. He and Anna spent the day peacefully, wandering in the garden or on the battlements. It was cooler up there with the wind blowing and Anna liked to watch for the return of the men. As evening drew near, she spotted them, glad to see David’s banners still flying.

  Knowing dinner would be served soon, Math and Anna entered the great hall. The steward greeted Math, coming forward to discuss the disposition of wine and mead that evening. Anna realized that the servants had neglected to strew fresh herbs among the rush mats on the floor and was about to waddle forward to tell them so when David came up behind her, put his arms around her waist (such as it was) and put his cheek to hers.

  “Ew! Yuck!” Anna burst out, shoving him away.

  He laughed and released her. Anna was turning back to him, to chide him for smelling so disgusting, when she felt a pop, like when the pressure is released from a bottle. And then, she ... flickered.

  “David!” Anna screamed. He grabbed her hand and spun her around, toward Math, who’d moved at the same instant. Math wrapped his arms around Anna, gasping.

  “Hold her,” David said. “I’ll get Mom.”

  He raced away while Math patted Anna up and down, making sure she was all there. “What happened?” he said.

  “My water broke,” Anna said. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I just knew that I would disappear like Mom did if I didn’t do something quickly.”

  “So you screamed,” Math said.

  “I fought it,” Anna said. “I saw blackness before my feet but refused to enter it.”

  The door opens and closes; opens and closes ... is it this simple? But now I don’t want to go.

  And then there was a different kind of abyss before her feet, this one of her and Math’s making, as the contractions came on relentlessly. All she could do was surrender to them, giving up herself up to becoming a mother.

  * * * * *

  It was nearly three in the morning; Anna had been dozing for an hour or so, with Cadell cuddled against her, nursing on and off. She opened her eyes to find the room lit by one candle burning in its dish on the table near the bed. Math was stretched out beside her, snoring, and Anna thought about elbowing him but decided not to, just glad he was there, and that he’d been there to see Cadell born.

  Mom saw her wake and got up from her chair to sit on the edge of the bed. “Do you need anything?”

  “Clean clothes for Cadell and me.” Anna handed her son to her mother.

  I have a son.

  Mom cradled Cadell as Anna gingerly sat up, and then stood.

  Noting the disturbance, Math woke and in a moment was beside his wife, a hand under her elbow. “Careful.” He walked Anna to the toilet and back, while a maid changed the sheets and Mom changed Cadell.

  “What is it about sons?” Anna said to Math, after she was back in bed. He now sat in a chair under the window, Cadell asleep in his arms. For once Anna had been able to overrule Mom and order her to bed.

  “I wouldn’t have chided you had you given me a daughter, not like some husbands,” he said. “I understand enough to know that it is in God’s hands.”

  “But you’re not sorry,” Anna said.

  “No.” Then he explained, “Think on your father; what it means for him to have your brother to follow after him.”

  “Gwenllian could never have been enough,” Anna said.

  “Not here. I can’t comprehend what your world must be like if there are more women like you and your mother in it. It seems impossible.” He glanced up, having kept his gaze on Cadell’s face as they’d talked. “You could have returned to it.”

  “Maybe,” Anna said. “Or maybe the abyss would have taken me somewhere else entirely.”

  “Thank you for staying,” he said.

  “I’ve known for some time what I have here.” Anna tucked the blanket under her chin. “I have the two of you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  David

  According to Mom, Anna did really well and actually had a short, easy labor. She looked pretty terrible, however, when David went in to see her at midnight, half an hour after Cadell was born. Her face was red and puffy and it looked like she’d burst some blood vessels in her eyes. David lied, though, and said she looked great.

  Cadell was nursing by then, and David didn’t want to get too close, but the baby had a nice bunch of black hair, curly like Anna’s. Mom assured David that Cadell looked exactly like a newborn should look. Math was so happy David thought his smile would split his face. David hoped he would have been just as happy if Anna had given him a girl, but at least the pressure was now off Anna to produce a son.

  David was more concerned about the flickering. Mom had been in her sitting room on the second floor, but she’d heard the commotion and met David half-way down the stairs. “It’s Anna. Her water broke.”

  “Okay,” Mom had said, totally calm. “I’ll get Aaron. You send a groom for the midwife.”

  She’d turned back upstairs but then David had caught her arm. “We almost lost her, Mom,” David said. “I saw her fade out for a second, but I grabbed her hand and she came back.”

  Mom gasped. “My God. Is Math with her now?”

  “Yes,” David said. “I told him not to let her go.”

  “When I went into labor with you, I was holding Anna and ended up in Pennsylvania. My greatest fear has been that the same thing might happen to her. But how could I prevent it without knowing when her labor would start?”

  “I held her and she stayed with me,” David said slowly. “Maybe this is a woman-thing. Maybe you and Anna have an ability to shift between worlds, but I don’t. Maybe I’m only here because Anna brought me along for the ride.”

  “Then why didn’t she take you with her this time, back to Pennsylvania?”

  “I don’t know.” David shook his head. Another theory, shot down.

  Everyone was totally absorbed in the baby, and as David felt pretty useless in that department, he hung around for only a few days to make sure everything was really okay before riding north as he’d planned. David was glad that Cadell was taking Mom’s mind off worrying about him, but he knew that if he stuck around, she’d no doubt start again.

  David’s impression while at Dinas Bran was that Aaron had seemed somber, but now he thought about it, it was more that he was sad, even dejected. When David quizzed him, he insisted all was well. Finally at Denbigh, David cornered him and demanded he tell him the truth. Was he unwell? Had his son refused to receive him?

  “My son is well, my lord. I talked with him for several hours—no more than that as it wouldn’t have been wise for him to be seen with me. We arranged to meet in a tavern, as if accidentally. He asks to be remembered to you.”

  David nodded, and Aaron continued. “It’s my brother, my lord. He was much taken aback by the news that Edward had expelled the Jews from London. At first he refused to believe it. But then, it was as if he reversed himself, and the bile and invective he directed against his English masters had both his son and me urging him to quiet his rage. The root of it all, however, is that my brother has a malady that he cannot cure, something that affects his moods and thoughts. Neither of us, despite our experience, know what to do. It’s a wasting disease.”

  “I am sorry, Aaron,” David said.

  “He’s an old man now,” Aaron said, “past fifty years old, but his death will not be an easy one, I fear.”

  “Will you see him again, once we’re in Lancaster?” David said.

  “It seems so, and for that I’m grateful. It might be for the last time.”

  “You couldn’t persuade him to leave his position and come to Wales?”

  “No,” Aaron said. “He will not come. He spoke of sending Moses, after his death, and I encouraged both of them to consider it well. I warned him that the news from Lo
ndon indicated the extent to which there is no future for Jews in England. I didn’t tell him all, of course, for I should have no prior knowledge of Edward’s future edicts, but I made my point as clearly as I could. Perhaps in Lancaster, I can make my case again. It would be better for him to die among friends than among enemies.”

  A few days later, they reached Rhuddlan where the boats were waiting to take them to Lancaster. David had left Taranis behind at Buellt in favor of a new horse, Bedwyr, who was smaller, sturdier, and better able to handle a sea voyage. Still, David found himself missing Taranis—they could talk to each other, and despite what Owain had said long ago at Castell y Bere, Taranis understood American English really well. David gazed across the sea to England, the land of his enemies, and laughed at the thought that three years ago, his enemy had been Bill Morgan (with a Welsh name no less!) who enjoyed tripping and shoving David in the halls at school.

  Increasingly, the years between 1285 and 2013 weighed on David. No matter how much he learned about Wales, he was a child of the twenty-first century, not the thirteenth. David knew it wasn’t his job to bring Wales all the way to modern times intact. He couldn’t transport it into the future single-handedly, but that didn’t stop him wanting to. So much had to happen between now and then. At least David was unlikely to see the Black Plague come to Wales—and even that caused him to struggle with himself. Was there some way to warn his descendants of the future? What could they do about it, even if they knew? Perhaps, given some breathing space without war with England, David’s family could effect changes over time in education, medicine, science, and perhaps even religion.

  For the present journey, David’s company had three vessels to carry them to England, all similar to the one Mom had traveled in when she came from Scotland, though larger and designed to carry horses. However, unlike that journey, David had a royal writ of safe passage and his ships would hug the shoreline to avoid whatever weather the sea chose to throw at them. It was late July, and the weather prospects were mild, but with the Irish Sea, one never knew. Aaron confessed that he’d sworn never to set foot on board a ship again. As his Prince, David absolved him of his oath.

  They wouldn’t actually be meeting in the City of Lancaster, but in the nearby countryside. This was one of the Scot requirements for the meeting, and in truth, the Welsh were happier to meet in the open air rather than inside a walled city and so acquiesced without complaint.

  Fortunately, the weather was fair and after a few days, the ships sat off the English coast, preparing to come to shore at the little village of Poulton. Carew, who knew the area, said that it was five miles from there to the English camp. The ships docked at four in the afternoon, giving David plenty of time to establish his camp and send word to Edward that he’d arrived. Happy to be back on dry land, David set out and as Carew predicted, rode out of some wooded hills an hour later to see the English camped at the head of a meadow some distance ahead.

  “We should set up over there, sir.” Bevyn pointed to a spot at the base of the hill. “I don’t think it wise to get too close.”

  “We’re going to have to go in there eventually,” David said. “With five or twenty-five of us, it makes no difference. We’re outnumbered.”

  “We’re always outnumbered,” Bevyn grumbled.

  David laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what makes it so much fun!”

  “I must think on this,” Carew said. “We must consider how to best present ourselves.”

  David looked over at him. “You think fewer would be better.”

  “Having seen the lay of the land, I’m not happy about committing our entire party to this endeavor. I discussed this with your father before we left; I would have you lead a small party and leave the rest of the men outside. I don’t trust Edward.”

  They rode another quarter mile and set up camp where Bevyn had indicated. David sent a rider to inform Edward of his arrival, and shortly thereafter, Edward sent word that David was to come to him at his leisure. When David received the message, he was in his tent with Hywel, contemplating his attire. Carew had insisted David arrive in full regalia—armor, sword, and banners—less for protection, than to show Edward the splendor of Welsh nobility.

  All David cared about was that it meant donning his mail again. He’d lived in it for all the weeks he was in the south, and had enjoyed the respite from it while on board the ship. Hywel had polished each link until it shone, but that didn’t make David any happier about putting it on again.

  As soon as Hywel helped David into it, he started sweating. With padding underneath and surcoat over the top to show his colors, the red Welsh dragon on a white background, David was blazingly hot. He couldn’t imagine what the European knights were thinking when they wore this in the Holy Land. Hywel buckled on his sword, David drank a flagon of water, and then exited the tent. Only Carew, Bevyn, Gruffydd, and two of Carew’s men (Dogfael and Cadoc) would accompany him. Ieuan would stay in camp, in charge of the other men and on guard. If it came to a fight, they would lose, but by remaining out in the open, they could abandon their possessions and flee.

  David mounted Bedwyr and, with a nod to his men, rode the short distance to the English camp. The sun was lower now, but in these long English summers, it was hard to tell the hour. It was perhaps seven or eight o’clock, with two more hours until full dark. Given the time, David hoped Edward had finished his evening meal, but as they entered the camp, most of his men were still eating. David dismounted outside a grand pavilion. Its sides and back were closed but the front was open to the evening breeze.

  He ducked through the opening. Edward sat at a solitary table some forty feet away. He didn’t look up as David entered and his lack of courtesy made David hesitate. Surely this isn’t usual? Beside Edward, on a small stool, sat another man whom David would have recognized even if Aaron hadn’t warned him what to expect. It was Aaron’s brother Jacob, wearing the yellow badge of his religion, acting as the royal food taster. How offensive must that have been to a man whose religion forbade him to eat with gentiles!

  Other men sat at tables on either side of King Edward. Uncle Dafydd sneered at David from one of them but didn’t speak.

  Carew leaned in and whispered that Edmund, the Earl of Lancaster, was to Edward’s left, Roger and Edmund Mortimer, Gilbert de Clare, and John Gifford were to his right.

  “So the Marcher lords have come too,” David said. “What can we expect from them?”

  “I can’t say,” Carew said. “Probably nothing good.”

  Other men sat at tables along the side walls. Carew didn’t see the Archbishop of Canterbury, nor Humphrey de Bohun, the Earl of Hereford. Perhaps they were to arrive later.

  David rolled his shoulders, straightened them, and then lifted his chin. “My lord Edward. I give you greetings from my father, the Prince of Wales.”

  Finally, Edward looked up. He jerked his head. Bevyn shouted a warning and Carew and David spun around, reaching for their swords, but too late. Other swords were already at their throats. Not even Bevyn’s blade had cleared its sheath.

  “Take your hands off your weapons,” one of the men said.

  The five men raised their hands, but otherwise didn’t move. It would take very little provocation to make these men shove swords through their throats, and David hoped to live a little while longer at least.

  Other men relieved David and his men of their swords and knives. While Carew and David had soldiers on either side of them, gripping their arms to contain them, Bevyn and the others were manhandled to the tent posts and tied, their hands behind their backs.

  All the while, David kept his gaze on Edward, who still ate his food as nonchalantly as before. David clenched his fists. “There’s a certain freedom in finally facing that which you most fear,” he said to Carew.

  Carew ground his teeth. “Don’t do anything rash, my lord. This is my fault. Let me try to speak to the king.”

  Edward interrupted their conversation. “Separate
them!”

  David’s captors jerked his arms and pulled him away from Carew. David was still trying to get a sense of whether Carew thought Edward’s actions were his fault because he’d talked David into coming to England, or whether he was betraying him to Edward but this wasn’t how he’d meant it to happen. David saw nothing in Carew’s eyes, however, but anger and maybe a touch of fear. Unless they were just mirroring David’s own.

  Edward went back to his food, and eventually the noise in the tent rose to its previous levels. Edward laughed at something Uncle Dafydd said. He waved his knife around, a parsnip speared through the end. Edward’s sojourn in the Holy Land had given him a taste for heavily spiced and sauced foods and David wondered what the meal was. Eventually, Jacob was allowed to leave, but Edward made David stand until he finished eating. Thankful now for his mail armor, David entertained himself with various scenarios for escape. Despite Carew’s fears, however, David knew enough not to act until he had no other choice.

  Bevyn grumbled, and when David turned to look at him, he gave David a fearsome grimace. David was glad to see his mustachios were still in place. Bevyn’s captors, like David’s, had grown bored with their task, and David tried to watch them without looking at them directly.

  Finally, Edward finished his meal and deigned to look at David. David’s captors pushed him forward until he stood some ten feet in front of his companions.

  “Well,” Edward said, speaking in French. “The time has come.”

  He leaned back in his chair and rested his boots on the table, newly cleared of dishes.

  “Welcome to England.” Edward held his hands out expansively. “Though I’d hoped your father would come, you will do very nicely. You will be glad to know that you abdicate the throne today or you die where you stand.”