“My lord!” A whisper came from behind them. “A scout has returned.”
This was the news James had been waiting for. He and Robbie retreated from their lookout point, heading into a fold in the landscape, and then came to an abrupt halt.
Callum stood before them grinning. “Hello, my friend.”
James gaped at him for several heartbeats, and then laughed. “You made it!” The two men embraced, pounding each other on the back. Callum had already seen Huw, who stood a few paces away, looking deservedly self-satisfied. James stepped back and went straight to the point. “How many men do you have?”
“We’re only the advance,” Callum said. “The main army is still a full march away, but they’re coming.”
James pursed his lips. “How is it that you are here at all?”
“Christopher sent us word too.”
James gestured to Huw. “I knew that, but how did you get here. How did you find me? We were trying to be secretive.”
“I can think like a Scotsman when I have to.” Callum grinned. “Huw says he hardly had to work to find you, since you’d already heard the news and turned south.”
James nodded. “We’ve been shadowing Balliol since he left Barnard.”
“We have four hundred mounted men.” Callum paused, allowing himself another smile. “And more than two hundred archers.”
Robbie gave a low whoop. “Morgan and his men are here?”
“Along with some who ran all the way from Gwynedd.”
“I have two thousand pikemen divided into two groups. Each is camped less than five miles from Skipton, and all are champing at the bit at the inactivity,” James said.
“The plan so far is simple,” Callum said. “As soon as it’s dark, we need your men to take all of the ground on the other side of the river from the castle.”
“To what end?” Robbie said. “They can’t force the river to attack this army. There’s no ford at the town, only a drawbridge.”
“That’s not what we intend,” Callum said.
Robbie still looked confused, but James understood. “You mean to cut off Balliol’s retreat.” He paused. “That could cause Balliol to make a preemptive strike. He’ll know his back is to the wall and that he has nowhere to go.”
“Or he could surrender sooner,” Callum said.
“You sound like King David.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” Callum said.
“Truthfully, I will do anything to nip this war in the bud.” Then James lifted his chin. “What of Beeston?”
“It has fallen, but Roger Mortimer escaped.”
Robbie made a sour face. “We thought we saw his banners in the field, but we didn’t want to believe it.”
James shook his head. “A moment ago, I thought Balliol had made a brilliant move to take Skipton, but with you here and the king’s forces approaching, now I’m not so sure. He is far from Scotland.”
“He has sent a stream of assassins after David. If one of them had been successful, the whole of England could have been rolled up like a rug. Now, he is caught well into England with no way back.” Callum looked hard at James. “How have the alliances fallen out for you?”
James rubbed his chin. “John Balliol and his allies are on one side. Robert Bruce and I are on the other.”
“Plus Erik of Norway,” Robbie said helpfully. “He’s not pleased.”
“Erik is here?”
James grimaced. “No. Not yet. Robbie is being optimistic.”
“I’m sure Hakkon is hoping that by the time his brother finds out where he is and what he has done, it will be too late to stop him becoming King of Scots,” Callum said.
“God forbid. My peers chose John Balliol to rule them, in part because the Bruces can be arrogant and overbearing—” James put out a hand to Robbie, “—no disrespect intended, my friend.”
“I know my grandfather,” Robbie said. “You speak the truth.”
“—but rule by Norway?” James continued. “We might have accepted Erik under duress, but his younger brother? Never.”
“That’s why this war has to end here,” Callum said.
James had seen this kind of grimness in his friend before. It had never boded well for King David’s enemies, and for the first time since he saw Red Comyn on the docks at Drogheda in Ireland, hope began to outpace his anger.
Chapter Thirty-three
3 April 2022
David
“You nervous?” Amelia smoothed the lapels on David’s suit jacket, under which he wore a very light blue shirt without a tie.
The debate about what he was going to wear tonight had exceeded all reason as far as David was concerned, but he knew the argument well too. As he’d told Amelia, he had a valet, a wife, and advisers from London to the Irish Sea. They all had argued at one time or another about the message David sent with his attire. Even the colors he wore had meaning. For some reason, he couldn’t greet an Italian ambassador wearing green.
Fundamentally, he believed it shouldn’t matter what he wore, but he’d learned that theory and practice were not the same thing. It was better to acquiesce gracefully and be smart about it, not only because clothing did matter in the real world and he wasn’t stupid enough to pretend it didn’t, but because he also didn’t make a habit of disparaging things other people cared greatly about.
Amelia cared what he looked like. So did Chad. So did, apparently, the world, though David thought that was taking it a bit far. But he was starting to accept that everyone on the planet was going to be watching the interview, and he was hoping the studio would be kept at sixty degrees so he wouldn’t sweat through his suit. In addition to his glee in general at scooping the story, Chad had also been rubbing his hands together, like a real-life scrooge, over the market share he’d be getting tonight. He claimed that people would begin by tuning into the show airing before the interview, just so they wouldn’t miss anything.
Truth be told, David was surprised television still existed at all in 2022. Chad had explained that, while regular cable channels hadn’t disappeared, the vast majority of the watchers would probably be seeing the broadcast on their phones, which he would be providing as a live stream for free on the internet. David hadn’t had to ask him to make that happen, and he knew enough about the way the modern internet worked to understand Chad’s pleasure that ad revenue would be going through the roof.
“I’m not nervous. You guys honestly have more at stake here than I do. I’m going to leave again, and if this goes badly, it will be your mess to clean up.” He’d been far more nervous to make his many phone calls this afternoon: to Cassie’s grandfather; to Bronwen’s parents, whom Chad had tracked down in Mexico; to Mark’s family; to some of the bus passengers, including Shane’s family; and to Callum’s money manager, who turned out to be a no-nonsense sixty-something. A five minute conversation was all it had taken for David to understand completely why Callum trusted her.
Amelia shook her head. “We talked about this. You can’t be cavalier. Stay focused, and watch out for the traps I mentioned. Owain agreed to do the interview only if he could ask real questions.”
“I know.” David let out a breath. “You’re right. I swear I’m not being cavalier. I’m just trying to stay calm.” He gave her a dark look. “You realize that I have never been on television before.”
“Oh, believe me, I am aware.”
The interview was being filmed before a live studio audience, in what amounted to a huge warehouse, with a stage set before several hundred chairs, those in the back raised up in bleachers. Massive lights that lit the stage and the audience were suspended from big I-beams and scaffolding up in the ceiling. David could barely make out the people adjusting them manually, forty feet in the air. Other men and women manned four cameras, so the stage could be filmed from every angle. The sound board was off to one side, so as not to impede the view of the audience, and David would be wearing a wireless microphone.
Ten minutes later, Dav
id was introduced by the host, and he walked on stage. The second he appeared, everyone stood and clapped. Some seemed to be screaming, while several women in the front row were outright crying. David tried not to look at them and instead smiled and raised a hand, thanking everyone for coming—though nobody could possibly hear his words. Then he shook hands with Owain, whom he’d already met, and was gestured to a seat.
The moment he sat, he sank down so his head was a good foot lower than where Owain was sitting at his desk, and David’s heart sank with it. The seating was one of the things Chad had tried to arrange in advance, not wanting David to immediately feel at a disadvantage. Owain himself was no more than five foot eight, so David could understand that he didn’t want to stand during the interview and spend the whole time looking up at David, but this was going too far in the opposite direction.
For a fraction of a second, Owain’s eyes crinkled in the corners while his mouth twitched wider in an extra bit of smile. It told David that he knew exactly what he’d done, and he was pleased that it had turned out the way he’d expected. It wasn’t as if David could walk out in response. He was committed to go through with the interview, whatever the circumstances or the outcome. In that moment, he chose to accept that his best bet was to play along as if he hadn’t noticed, and even if he had, it didn’t matter.
He relaxed into the softness of the couch, crossed his legs so his left ankle rested on top of his right knee, and put out his right arm to its full length across the top of the couch. David was a big man, and the couch was pretty small as it turned out.
While waiting for the audience to calm down, he bounced up and down and shot them a grin. “This is really soft.”
Owain finally managed to wave the people to silence. “Not what you’re used to, is it?”
“Not exactly.” David grinned again. “We have cushions, but—” he bounced a bit more dramatically, “—not like this.”
The last of the crying women seemed to have gained control of herself, and Owain straightened in his office chair to face the central camera. “Welcome to the Owain Williams show. Thank you for being with us, and special thanks to David ap Llywelyn for being here tonight.” He pronounced the ll correctly.
David bent his head, having stopped bouncing. “My pleasure. Happy to be here.” Amelia had told him that his instinct to say thank you for having me would come off a little weird and not to say it.
“First off, how is William—that’s the name of your friend, isn’t it? I understand that he arrived with an injury. A crossbow bolt, was it?”
“Yes. He is healing. Thank you for asking. And thanks especially to the staff at Ysbyty Gwynedd in Bangor. Because of them, William should be fine.” David lifted his chin to point to the opposite wing of the stage, effectively behind Owain as he was turned in his seat to look at David. “He was well enough to come tonight.”
Owain nodded and for the audience’s benefit said, “We hope to speak to him a little later. For now, how’s he taking all this?”
“It’s an eye-opener, that’s for sure,” David said. “For me, too, actually.”
“Why is that?” So far Owain was leading him along gently, making small talk to put David at ease and warm up the audience.
“I am never here long enough to become adjusted. It has been less than a year and a half, and the changes in technology alone are daunting.”
Owain smiled and then spent the next ten minutes asking questions about David’s family. He particularly wanted to hear the story of how David and Lili had met and married. These were easy questions to answer, and David started to feel more confident that he was going to get through the interview in one piece. Then Owain said, “So if I understand correctly, you were last here during the bombing of Caernarfon Castle.”
“Yes.”
Owain motioned towards a large screen behind him. “We’ll get to that later, since we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let me just say, for our audience, that you claim to be the King of England in an alternate universe. Do I have that right?”
David canted his head. “It isn’t something I claim to be. I am the King of England in an alternate universe.” Amelia had been firm on this point, and David had been happy not to concede it.
Owain gave him a ghost of a smile, and David had a sinking feeling that, whatever his and Amelia’s intent, what he’d just said was going to trip him up later. He could see Amelia standing in the wings, her hands clasped before her lips. Livia was beside her, her arms folded across her chest. As David caught Amelia’s eye, she nodded. He hoped she wasn’t being encouraging only because at this stage she couldn’t be anything else. David had never been interviewed before, except by Rupert Jones, the twenty-firster reporter. Being filmed was something else entirely.
“Why don’t we show the clip of your most recent appearance two days ago, and you can tell me what is happening in it.”
The lights came down slightly on David and Owain, and the video of his arrival at Beaumaris played. When it ended, the lights came up, and Owain looked intently at him. “You seem to appear out of nowhere.”
“Yes.”
Owain waited a beat, but David decided then and there that he wasn’t going to be more helpful. He didn’t know why any of this happened to him anymore than anyone else did. He had theories, but that’s all they were. And he wasn’t going to humiliate himself on worldwide TV by talking about fate or God or destiny.
Instead, he thought of facing down MI-5 interrogators or Gilbert de Clare at Westminster—and tried to look interested but unintimidated. He was beginning to realize that the dangers before him in this interview were far more diverse than he’d naively thought, despite the warnings of Amelia and Livia. He’d been dumb. And arrogant.
But he was stuck now, and he had to see this through—despite the fact that Owain’s next question was deliberately antagonistic: “I’m sure our viewers are wanting to know if you and this alternate world pose a threat to those of us in this world. How do you respond to that?”
David tried to look sympathetic. “I would hope it doesn’t. I have worked with scientists over the years in both the private and public sector in hopes of finding the truth. We have no evidence that it is doing damage.”
“But none that it isn’t.”
David smiled gently. “I have been much more concerned about this world damaging that one.”
“How so?”
“That world is pristine in a way we haven’t seen on this earth since before the industrial revolution.”
“Unpolluted, you mean.”
“Yes, and by our standards, unpopulated.”
“It will become more of both, however, with or without us.”
“We don’t know that,” David said. “It is important to remember that the people there aren’t our ancestors. It’s a different world; they are their own people. They don’t belong to us just because they share the names and some of the history of our own ancestors. Their history is not our history, and their future is not our history either.” Without being aware of it, he’d moved from his casual sprawl on the couch to leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, looking intently at Owain.
“Especially now.” Owain gestured to him. “You, an American born at the end of the twentieth century, are the King of England.”
David didn’t react to the certainty in Owain’s voice. He didn’t want to crow. In the space of five minutes, Owain had gone from doubting to belief. “Yes, through circumstances which I still almost can’t believe myself.”
“So what’s that like, being King of England in an alternate universe?”
Before the interview, while she hadn’t hesitated to coach him, Amelia had told him that he would win over his audience when he forgot that he was in an interview and showed his real self. David glanced towards the audience. Every person he saw had a posture indicating they were intent and listening, and he eased back a little, realizing he would do well to engage them too.
“Being king is a huge responsibi
lity. I feel it every day, perhaps more so because I wasn’t born to it. Even though my father is the King of Wales, I didn’t meet him until I was fourteen. I started out as a typical American kid.”
“Hardly typical, according to our sources,” Owain put in.
David made a maybe motion with his head. “I thought of myself as normal. I spoke a little Welsh, thanks to my mother, but I’d never held a sword before.”
They’d strayed away from describing what it was like to be king, which on the whole David thought was good, until Owain said, “You’re a soldier too, I understand.”
“Yes.” If he hadn’t been on television, David would have eyed Owain warily.
“Have you killed people?” It seemed Owain had remembered he was supposed to ask hard-hitting questions.
In the wings, Michael started forward, though he got only a step onto the stage before Livia and Amelia together hauled him back. Chad Treadman was there a second later, whispering urgently in his ear.
David canted his head, and he made the pause long enough to let everyone know that he didn’t approve of the question. “The answer, of course, is yes, though I wonder at your decision to ask me that. The fact that I’ve fought in battle puts me apart, doesn’t it? I’m outside polite company. It’s one of the reasons soldiers don’t talk about their experiences in war except with each other.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Michael subsiding, though his arms were folded hard across his chest, and his chin was up. David met his eye for a heartbeat, and then looked at the audience. A few people had gasped at Owain’s question, and David felt all of a sudden that they had moved firmly to his side if they hadn’t been there already. Maybe he was wrong about that, but he took a chance and stood in order to walk to the edge of the dais to talk directly to them. He was tired of sitting and looking up at Owain anyway.
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