“Ha!” Llywelyn said. “You have the right of it!
“I hate to rain on your parade,” I said, “but it’s going to be an impossible secret to keep. Do you imagine Maud doesn’t know already? Or the maidservant? Everyone within a hundred mile radius of Brecon is counting the days until they’re sure I’m late.”
“At least there won’t be any questions about paternity,” Goronwy added, “not with as close as you’ve kept her.”
I narrowed my eyes at him for speaking of it so openly. Men.
* * * * *
We were half-way through May when King Henry of England responded to Llywelyn’s letter in which he requested that either King Henry intervene in the dispute with Clare, or he allow Llywelyn to go in himself. Henry’s response was one of placation and equivocation. Llywelyn read me the letter, and then mocked it.
“Oh me, oh my! What’s to be done with that Clare fellow? The man writes as if he didn’t rule the most powerful kingdom on earth!” Llywelyn said. “It’s his fault this is happening in the first place, since he was the one who told Clare during the Baron’s War that he could keep whatever lands he took from me. It set a bad precedent.”
Llywelyn swung around to me as I sat on a cushion on the window seat in his office. I set down the guitar I’d been playing, trying to work out the melody for one of the Welsh ballads, and paid attention.
“The King has always been weak. Such was the complaint of the barons in the first place,” said Tudur, who’d brought Llywelyn the letter.
“And Clare’s letter?” I said.
“Now there’s a piece of subtlety,” Tudur said. With my pregnancy, he’d softened towards me somewhat, but didn’t trust me.
Llywelyn picked up Clare’s letter and waved it at me.
“I don’t understand,” I said, peering at the paper. Clare hadn’t written anything on it.
“It is of the finest parchment,” Llywelyn said, “but it says that he doesn’t care about diplomacy; he’s not even going to bother with appeasement or carefully crafted lies. The page is blank.”
“He’s saying,” Goronwy said, “that he doesn’t care to talk to us. He’s going to continue with his building project and the devil take us, damn that whoreson to hell.”
“Goronwy,” Llywelyn said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve heard it before.”
“When do we move?” Goronwy said.
“I’d like to be in Senghennydd by mid-June,” Llywelyn said. “No foot soldier is going to want to leave his planted fields or herd animals, but I can’t allow the work at Caerphilly to continue without a show of force.”
“I’ll send out the word,” Goronwy said. “It’s going to be a long summer.”
* * * * *
So Llywelyn left Brecon with an army. For the first time in my four months in Wales, I was alone, with just Anna. At first, I didn’t know what to make of myself. There seemed everything and nothing to do. Anna and I could entertain ourselves well, and a certain part of every afternoon required a nap for both of us, but the absence of Llywelyn in my bed left me with an ache in my heart I couldn’t assuage. More than one evening, I found myself sobbing after I put Anna to bed, sure I would never see Llywelyn again and I would be forever lost in the thirteenth century.
Anna, at least, was a delight. She would be three years old in August and time was passing more quickly than I could have imagined. We played in the kitchen garden, walked along the river, and tried not to get underfoot. Because Llywelyn and I weren’t officially married, I was not the mistress of the castle—that role belonged to Tudur and a man named Madoc who ran things when Llywelyn was somewhere else. That left me at loose ends, with no real tasks.
The castle was also on the edge of a war zone, so few women and families lived there, as at Castell y Bere. The good part of that was I didn’t have to spend time in the women’s solar, sewing. The bad part was there wasn’t anyone to talk to. Not that I had anything in common with thirteenth century women anyway.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I was pregnant, and that fact alone was enough to prompt comment from everyone at every turn. I found it strange to be pregnant, and yet have no ultrasounds, no blood work, no monthly visits to the doctor. I just lived as I had before, but with a growing life inside me.
What made me the most uncomfortable was the idea of having the child without a doctor or midwife. Anna’s had been a natural birth in a birthing center with no drugs, but the hospital had been only seconds away and I’d felt safe. Here, it was up to me to make sure everyone washed their hands and boiled whatever instruments they might want to use. I’d talked to the midwife, Alys, already. She’d raised her eyebrows at what I’d said, but not disagreed. Carrying the future Prince of Wales had it uses, after all.
A c-section, though, was not going to be possible. Whenever I thought of it my mind shied away. I’d brought it up with Llywelyn, though, before he left.
“I’m scared,” I said, flatly. “Scared for you, right now, scared for me later.”
We lay in bed together and he’d pulled me to him and tucked me under his chin. “I’m scared too, not so much for me. This adventure with Clare isn’t without peril, but not of great concern to me. But you . . .” he stopped.
“The birth with Anna went well. I’ve no reason to think I’ll have a problem, and yet . . .” I stopped too, as afraid to articulate our fears as he was.
“You’re afraid you’ll lose the baby,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re afraid you’ll die and leave me and Anna alone.”
“Yes,” I said, releasing a breath. “It isn’t so much dying itself that worries me, though I surely don’t want to. I don’t want her and you to have to go on living without me. I’ve left too much undone.”
“Every man feels that way,” he said. “When I raise my sword and order my men to charge, my last coherent thought before the fire of battle overtakes me will be of you, and what I lose if either of us doesn’t survive the year.”
“And as always, in your case especially, what Wales loses,” I said.
“Yes. Always that.” He paused. “The priests tell us that we should pray for the Will of God. That’s hard to do, when so often what comes out is, ‘Please Lord, I need to live.’”
* * * * *
As my pregnancy became more obvious, which it did far sooner than when I was pregnant with Anna, I received more and more attention for it. On one hand, I was protected at every moment, most especially when I left the castle, which only happened when Anna and I walked across the drawbridge into the town for the weekly fair. On the other hand, every person I passed wanted to touch my belly (for luck it seemed) since I was carrying a child that the Prince—and all of Wales—never thought they’d see.
Llywelyn and his army had been gone two weeks and should have reached his lands in Senghennydd, when Dafydd appeared on the doorstep. He arrived just as the evening meal was finishing, striding up the hall as if he owned it.
“My lady,” he said, bowing. He straightened, his eyes blatantly traveling from my face, to my breasts, to my not quite protruding belly.
From his place beside me, Tudur leaned toward him over the table. Llywelyn’s chair, on my right, was empty.
“Dafydd,” he said, not according him any title, least of all ‘prince’. “Why are you here?”
Tudur and I still weren’t getting along that well, but I’d never been happier to have him by my side. From his tone, he at least preferred me to Dafydd. I might be a witch or a spy who’d captivated his Prince, but Dafydd was a traitor and a killer, and not to be tolerated.
“I’ve come to throw my full support behind my brother,” he said. “We seek shelter for the night, and then we’ll be off south.”
Tudur leaned back in his chair and gestured toward a seat to the left of him at the high table. “Of course. Sit yourself. We would have news from the north.”
Dafydd signaled to his captain, who’d waited in the doorway of the hall for appr
oval. Within minutes, Dafydd’s men began finding seats next to the twenty or so men that were all that was left of the Brecon garrison. Madoc exchanged glances with two of his men and they got to their feet, ostensibly to offer their seats to another, but I didn’t think that was it.
It looked like they were quartering the room with their eyes, determining sight lines and defensible positions. They ended up in opposing corners of the hall. Madoc leaned casually against the wall to the left of the fireplace. Another man stood by the great front doors, and the third propped his shoulder near the spiral stair up to our apartments, his eyes only half on the game of dice being played by the men closest to him.
“I don’t like this,” I said, keeping my voice low.
“Nor I,” Tudur said. “We’re vulnerable and outnumbered, and having Dafydd and his men here is like inviting a wolf to dinner.”
“Surely his men are loyal to Llywelyn?”
Tudur gave me a pitying look. “Who pays them?” Then he answered his own question. “Prince Dafydd. They will do his bidding, just as did the men who attacked our lord at Coedwig Gap.”
I realized how insensitive I’d been to one of the sources of Tudur’s animosity towards Dafydd—it was Dafydd who’d indirectly caused Geraint’s death. How could I have forgotten that? I put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
Tudur nodded, his eyes watchful. Dafydd took his seat and helped himself to the remains of the meal. Tudur signaled to a servant, who cleared our places and brought several fresher dishes for Dafydd.
“You look well, my lady,” Dafydd said. “Certainly no worse for having gone for a swim in the best waters Wales has to offer.”
I stared at him, shocked that he would bring up his attempt to abduct me and kill his brother—and brazen out his criminal behavior. I leaned forward so I could see past Tudur to answer him, but Tudur put his hand on my arm to shush me. I sat back, not knowing what else to do. I wanted to berate him, but was afraid of him too, and afraid to make things worse or say something that Llywelyn wouldn’t want. Tudur must have felt the same thing because we sat together in silence.
As it grew longer, Dafydd’s amusement became palpable. “I hold the best interests of Wales always in my heart,” he said.
Tudur couldn’t hold back a snort and I couldn’t hold my tongue. “Dafydd, dear,” I said, trying for a sickening sweetness that he couldn’t mistake, “you certainly have an odd way of showing it.”
“Oh, that,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “All in fun. You made it clear at Criccieth that you belonged to Llywelyn. I was merely having a joke with him, like we did when we were boys. It was an amusing game, that’s all.”
“You know what they say about men and jests.” I stood to leave, unable to sit one second longer at the same table with him.
“What do they say?” Dafydd said, as I hoped he would.
“Jests are the last recourse of a man with a small dick.” Tudur was in the middle of taking a swallow of wine, which he proceeded to spew onto the table in front of him. I patted him on the back. “If you’ll excuse me.” I walked away, shaking so badly by now that I was sure they could see it.
Tudur followed right on my heels.
“My lady!” He wiped his face with a handkerchief as we rounded the corner into the stairwell. “I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time. Well done.”
“I had to do it,” I said. “I don’t want to rile him, but I hate that self-satisfied smirk he always wears.”
“Our lord has expressed a similar sentiment. My concern now is that you have angered and humiliated him in front of others.” He glanced back at the high table, and then raked his eyes around the hall. “Hywel is worried too. Our men ceased to drink the moment Dafydd and his men entered the hall, and none will sleep tonight.” Tudur took my elbow and escorted me to my room. “Bar the door and don’t open it until you see Dafydd’s banners, riding away from us south.”
“I will,” I said. “And thank you. I trust that even if you don’t like me, you seek to serve Llywelyn.”
Tudur’s gaze was measuring. “I distrust everyone. In truth, you less than most.” And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the stairs.
Well. That was unexpected. But Tudur was right. What I’d said was funny, but not smart.
Chapter Twenty
Llywelyn
The pungent smoke from the campfire spiraled upward with that peculiar tang that only filled the air before a battle. I didn’t know why, but when we traveled in times of peace, as we had from Criccieth to Brecon, the scent was never quite the same. I breathed it in, taking it for what it was—a sign that war was at hand and I would have to face it, yet again.
“Your brother, Dafydd, arrives.”
“The foolish bastard dares show his face here?” Hywel said, incredulity evident in his face as well as his voice.
“Thanks to King Henry, we appear to be stuck with him,” Goronwy said.
Dafydd meandered through the camp, raising a hand in greeting to one man and then another. I met Goronwy’s eyes and he nodded. I didn’t have to tell him what I was thinking: Make a note, Goronwy, of those to whom he speaks. It may serve us well to know who among my men he views as allies.
“I have so many enemies, I can hardly keep track,” I said. “A reduction by one, even temporarily, is a blessing.”
By the time Dafydd reached us, I’d tamed my expression. The grimace was gone. To know that I was angry would only serve as ammunition against me later. Better to swallow my pride and temper, and treat him as if I was glad to see him.
Dafydd dismounted and bowed, scrupulous in his obeisance. “My lord brother,” he said. “I bring you letters from both Tudur and Meg.”
I took the letters, glad to see them, though the thought of Dafydd in the same room as Meg brought the taste of acid to my mouth. I would not want her here; would never want to risk her, but it stuck in my craw that my absence left her vulnerable to my brother. “Thank you.” I unclenched my jaw to let the words through.
“Your woman is in blooming health,” Dafydd added. “But she has quite a mouth on her. I wouldn’t want her in my bed.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said, “since she’s in mine.”
I knew if I said anything more, I would have reproached him with the events of the winter, and now was not the time. The men were preparing for battle and it would do me no good to divide them before we started.
Goronwy came to my rescue. “How many men have you brought?”
“Thirty horse,” Dafydd said. “I know you have a plan. What is it?” In an instant, Dafydd slipped into his on-again-off-again role as counselor and confidant. Instead of back-handing him across the face, I replied in the same tone.
“Gilbert de Clare builds. He laid the foundation stone on the 11th of April. He has dozens of craft workers. He has masons, ditch diggers, and camp followers. They’re building him the finest castle in the realm.”
“And what are you going to do about it?” Dafydd said.
“I’m going to burn it to the ground,” I said. “I was going to wait until there was a little more to burn, but Goronwy convinced me we must attack immediately, before Clare gets wind of the size of our force.”
“Surely he must know you’re here.”
“He has few soldiers stationed in this region, surprisingly. I’ve had scouts make a fifteen mile circuit around Caerphilly. He has no standing army. His knights are spread thin across the whole of his lands. My fifty horse, plus your thirty, and our two hundred foot should carry the day.”
“If he’s not gotten very far in the building, it won’t take long,” Dafydd said. “One night. But then, he can rebuild it in a day too.”
I shook my head. “I have no intention of giving him that chance. I will strengthen the garrisons at my castles in the region and prevent him from moving into the area again.”
“When is this to begin?”
“Tonight,” I said. “You’re just in time.”
“I want you on the right flank,” I said. “Hywel on the left.”
“And Goronwy?” Dafydd asked. “Where will he be?”
I realized that the question he was really asking was, “Does Goronwy watch over me? Do you trust me to do my part?” I wasn’t sure if I could really trust my brother, but the odds of him being friendly with Clare were slim.
“He and Gruffydd ap Rhys lead the foot soldiers to Morcraig,” I said. “All should be under my control by morning.”
* * * * *
It isn’t that I enjoy battle, but I would say that the fire that lights in my belly at the start of every fight acts as a drug, a poison some would say. All I know is that it goes to my head. Goronwy was correct when he told Meg that I see every man I’ve ever killed in my dreams, but he’s wrong if he thinks I’ve never enjoyed killing. When the fury of battle takes you, there is a savage joy to it, as if your true self is finally let loose, and all notions of chivalry, stateliness, and civilized behavior are stripped away. What is revealed then, is the raw coil of a man, the essence of him that only cares about surviving, as if we were barbarians from the north who ate our meat raw. There are times when I understand why they do.
Just as dusk fell, the men gathered at the edge of the forest of Llanbradach, two miles north of Caerphilly. I’d already sent Goronwy, Gruffydd, and the men to their task. The people of the region and my scouts had reported that Clare had abandoned Morcraig when he started work on Caerphilly. Clare might not see the advantage in the half-built castle, but I wanted the heights.
Morcraig was built on a ridge on the south edge of the Glamorgan uplands. From the castle, a man was afforded uninterrupted views south across the coastal plain to Cardiff. Gruffydd ap Rhys, my vassal, would find himself reinstalled by morning. From his seat, he could control all his lands and keep an eye on Clare for me.
Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance Page 21