“David wouldn’t thank us for that.” Bohun grimaced at the sight of Math’s swollen ankle, already purpling. “We won’t take it without far more men and resources than we have at our disposal today, and we could lose the war if we besiege it and don’t take it.”
Edmund looked at Ieuan. “Can we get word to David that he is needed?”
“If Warenne was telling us the truth about the maneuvers in Ireland, I imagine he knows by now,” Ieuan said dryly. He gestured to Math’s ankle. “Can you ride?”
“I’ll have to, won’t I?” He reached for his boot to pull it on again. “We have a war to plan.”
Chapter Thirty-five
21 March 1294
Gwenllian
Gwenllian sat at breakfast with Arthur on her lap. Since their adventure in Avalon, they’d become inseparable. Their bond was making her reconsider her decision to go to university—not because she didn’t want to learn, but because it meant she’d spend months and years away from him.
They’d all spent a fairly terrible night, again without Anna, of course, though Ieuan, Math, and the Norman lords had hobbled in by yesterday evening with the grim news of the day. It was disheartening to find English barons once again chafing at Dafydd’s leadership. Gwenllian herself was half-English, the great-granddaughter of King John of England, though usually nobody talked about it. She also would never have trusted Warenne, since he’d allied with, and then betrayed, her grandfather, Simon de Montfort, leading to his death.
When Lili had shared Dafydd’s message that he was alive—as of three days ago--
Math had cheered briefly, before turning to the other lords with that grim expression men wore when they feared the worst. Having been to Avalon and seen what was possible, it was aggravating to Gwenllian how poor communication remained. They could talk to London, which in itself was a miracle, but not Ireland. Not yet.
“I miss Mama.” Elisa had been sitting by Lili, but she and Padrig, who did everything together, moved their dishes to sit next to Gwenllian.
“I know. I do too.”
The children had overheard the adult conversation, though nobody was saying outright that if Dafydd hadn’t survived whatever onslaught the conspirators had prepared for him, then it was highly possible, as Roger Mortimer insisted, that everyone else—Gwenllian’s mother and father, Christopher, Callum, Darren and Rachel—was dead—and those were just the people Gwenllian loved in particular. The loss for England and Wales if Mortimer’s allies in Ireland succeeded would be impossible to recover from.
And that meant as they breakfasted around Dinas Bran’s high table, the few of them here were the center of the known world, as Aaron had put it yesterday during Gwenllian’s lessons.
Last night, Gwenllian had eavesdropped on Bohun raging at Edmund in his quarters, though not at him so much as towards his sympathetic ear. This morning, from the haggard look on Bohun’s face and the circles under his eyes, she wasn’t sure he’d slept at all. Still, he raised his cup. “To David!” It was only then she remembered that Humphrey’s son, William, was in Dafydd’s company too. If Dafydd was dead, William undoubtedly was also.
“To Dafydd.” Everyone drank, but it was a distinctly sober group that put down their cups and stared around the table at each other. The mood was a far cry from the last time Gwenllian had sat like this with so much family, at Christmastime after the birth of her nephew, Alexander, when it had been joy all around.
Arthur, sensing the mood of the room, turned in Gwenllian’s lap and put his arms around her neck. She pushed back from the table so he wouldn’t knock her breakfast to the floor. Padrig leaned in, and with more wisdom than Gwenllian ever would have given him credit for, said to Arthur, “Your dad’s okay.”
Gwenllian looked down at her little brother, and she whispered, “So is ours.”
“I really do believe that.” Lili, with Alexander in her arms, sat down on the other side of Gwenllian, who found tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, despite her best efforts to fight them.
“Have you seen him?” Hope sprang in Gwenllian at the thought Lili may have been visited with the sight.
“No, cariad.”
“Then how can you know?”
“Because I haven’t seen him. Don’t forget, like Anna, they could have gone to Avalon. They’re safe. You have to believe that.”
Gwenllian nodded, though she had to tip back her head a little to stop the tears from overflowing. To cover her emotion, she brought Arthur’s little hand up to her lips and kissed it.
Then Gwenllian heard a sound coming from outside the keep. As it grew louder, she stood up so abruptly her chair tipped backwards to the floor, and Arthur in her arms squawked.
A moment later, Ieuan surged to his feet too, and he put out a hand to silence everyone else. By then, the noise from outside was loud enough to hear over the talking. Bohun looked from one to the other. “What is that?”
As she looked around the table, Gwenllian realized that other than Bronwen, who had been busy nursing Cadwaladr, and Arthur, who was too young to know, she and Ieuan were the only ones at the table who’d been to Avalon. That was why they’d been the first to realize the noise they were hearing was unnatural in a very specific way.
“It’s a plane.” Releasing Cadwaladr from her breast, Bronwen hugged him to her, listening hard. “It’s close too.”
“A plane?” Bohun said.
“A carriage that flies,” Bronwen said.
And then the door to the hall flew open, and two soldiers hurtled into the room, gasping and incoherent. A bus was one thing, but an airplane was the stuff dreams were made of. Everyone was on their feet by now, and Gwenllian, Arthur on her back, took off running for the door, followed closely by Cadell, who’d pretended all was well up until now, but as he came abreast, she saw a tear on his cheek.
It was only then Gwenllian realized the tears she’d thought contained were falling down her own cheeks as well.
“It’s Anna. It has to be!” With Alexander clutched to her chest, Lili stared up at the people on the battlements, which were already full. The entire garrison knew the danger to Dafydd in Ireland, and Gwenllian had seen the pity—as well as grief—in their eyes when they looked at Lili. Now, people buttressed her on all sides in their attempt to give her love and support.
Having followed Lili up the stairs to the battlement, Gwenllian searched the sky for the plane and didn’t immediately find it until she looked west and realized it wasn’t as close as she’d thought. Avalon was full of noise, but the loudest thing at Dinas Bran was the bell in the chapel tower and the wind in the trees, so they’d been able to hear the engine from miles away.
Dinas Bran sat on its mountain a thousand feet above the valley floor, allowing them to see for miles in every direction. Over the next minute, they watched the plane come towards them, descending with every second as it approached. The people around Gwenllian were dumbstruck at the sight.
Cadell, however, was a child of both worlds. “Come on, Gwen!” He ran for the main gatehouse tower, and then up it. Having left Arthur with his mother, Gwenllian huffed behind Cadell, glad she wasn’t twelve yet so her skirt still ended above her ankles and didn’t hinder her running.
They reached the highest tower of the castle and came out with gasping breaths. Cadell clambered up onto the lip of the wall, reaching for the pole upon which Dafydd’s banner hung.
Gwenllian grabbed his belt at the back, panicked he was going to fall, and then with the help of one of the guards, once he understood what Cadell wanted, they pulled one of the long flagpoles from its rest.
Cadell was only eight, so the pole was too heavy for him, but with the same man-at-arms steadying them, she and Cadell waved it above their heads in welcome.
Another minute passed before the plane reached the castle and circled directly overhead. The pilot responded to the flag by dipping the wings in greeting, and Gwenllian hugged Cadell jubilantly.
“Get off!” Cadell elbowed her
in the stomach, but as she pulled away, he was laughing. The plane flew east, fat tires extended, and Gwenllian didn’t see how it could possibly stay up in the air, though she’d done the calculations for flight in her physics lessons.
The guard behind Gwenllian asked, “Where is it going?”
“The pilot needs a flat place to land.” Gwenllian handed the pole to the guard. “Thank you.”
“We don’t do flat here very well.” Cadell stood on tiptoe to lean over the battlement. “It looks like they’re going try by the Dee.” He dashed for the tower door again, this time heading down the stairs, and by the time Gwenllian had followed, everyone else had descended from the wall-walk.
“Did you see where they landed?” Math asked his elder son. In his arms he held four-year-old Bran, who had a death grip around his neck.
Cadell nodded earnestly. “Right by the river in old Gruffydd’s field.”
Math strode towards the stable, Cadell and Gwenllian on his heels. Padrig and Elisa raced after them. “We’re coming too!”
Gwenllian caught their hands, and when they reached the stables, she threw Elisa up in front of Cadell, who was old enough to ride a horse of his own, and then once she’d mounted, Math helped Padrig up behind her. He kept Bran with him.
“I wish I could fly myself!” Lili laughed as Arthur, who was astride in front of her, shouted, “Yah!” and brandished his little sword. Alexander was the only family member not to come, since he’d been handed over to his nanny.
Constance was riding escort, back to her usual duties as Lili’s bodyguard, though like the Norman barons, Edmund and Humphrey, far more subdued than the family. Of course, Constance’s husband was imprisoned at Beeston Castle, his life in the balance, along with Venny and the others, so even the arrival of the plane couldn’t make up for his absence.
It took far too long to descend the road down from the castle, but they did eventually get there. As they approached the plane, which seemed impossibly huge compared to when it was flying above them, the door opened, and one by one everybody Gwenllian cared about spilled out, including her parents, Dafydd … and Anna.
Bohun had been riding his horse just behind Gwenllian’s, and now he swore, which wasn’t exactly the reaction Gwenllian would have expected. It was apparently a curse of joy, however, because as he dismounted he wore a smile a mile wide—which was almost terrifying on Bohun’s face, since he smiled so rarely.
Humphrey’s son, William, had dropped to the ground to stand before his father. The two men looked at each other, so much alike in their features and height, though William was far more slender. Then Humphrey reached for his son. “By God, I’m glad to see you.”
He scooped him up in a hug that eventually had William saying, “I’m well, Father. Let me go!”
“His assistance was crucial to saving my kingdom,” Dafydd said helpfully from behind them, his arms full of Lili and Arthur.
Humphrey turned. “I am not surprised, not in the least.” He draped his arm across William’s shoulders and squeezed him again. “He is a Bohun.”
William, for his part, appeared stunned by his father’s exuberance.
Gwenllian herself had been hugged and kissed and hugged again before finally ending up in her brother’s arms. “I liked the flag,” he said.
“It was Cadell’s idea.”
“It was a good one. It made your mother cry.”
“Am I never going to stop being afraid for you?” Gwenllian said.
“No,” he said simply and kissed her temple.
Then Dafydd loosened his hold, and Gwenllian turned to see that everyone had formed a semi-circle around them.
Dafydd gazed at his friends and family, taking in the face of each one in turn, though his eyes rested for the longest on Anna, who stood next to Math, holding hands with her boys. “Thank you. I cannot thank you enough.” Then he looked at Bohun. “You took a great risk.”
Bohun scoffed, but Gwenllian could tell how pleased he was by the attention. “My life was never in danger. I fear for the poor Venables boy, however. How are we going to get him and the others out?”
“Your kingdom isn’t saved yet, my lord. We don’t know how far the contagion has spread.” Edmund’s expression was not quite as joyful as everyone else’s—but then, it was his brother at the heart of the conspiracy.
“I don’t have a plan right now,” Dafydd said, honest as always, almost to a fault, “but if I have learned anything in the last weeks it is that I don’t have to.” He reached for Gwenllian and pulled her close to him again. “I have all of you—and we are going to figure this out together.”
Chapter Thirty-six
21 March 1294
Anna
Medieval beds were often built big, but Anna and Math’s was even bigger than normal, seeing as how they’d had it built when Anna was nursing Bran, and they’d wanted it spacious enough to accommodate the whole family. Tonight, Bran was snuggled up to Anna, who herself lay in her husband’s arms. Cadell had started out with them, but he was big enough that he’d learned not to like sleeping while anyone was touching him, and he’d taken himself off to his own room.
“I’m proud of you,” Math said. “Terrified, but proud.”
Anna had been almost asleep, but she raised her head to look at her husband, whom she could see by the moonlight shining through the half-open window. It was March, but she’d wanted it open. She’d told Math it was because it was too warm in the room, but really, she had wanted to smell the rain. It was Welsh rain, and tonight it stood for everything she’d almost lost.
“Time travel is the price I pay for being who I am.”
Math lifted her hand as it lay on the covers and kissed it. “I know that. I accept what I cannot change, and I suspect it’s time both worlds knew what an amazing woman you are.”
Bran stirred, allowing Anna time before she answered. She eased her son away from her so her movements wouldn’t wake him. Then she rolled all the way over so that she and Math could face each other.
“It’s better they don’t know.”
“I can’t see how.”
Anna shrugged one shoulder. “Because then you and I can go on being underestimated.”
Math’s expression turned thoughtful. “It is easier to protect those we love when your enemy has no idea what you’re capable of.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “It’s impossible to protect against everything. In Avalon, they’re obsessed with security, and even there, danger slips through. Here, it’s even harder, especially when the threat is from a Norman baron like Roger Mortimer, who’s good at keeping secrets.”
Math bent his head so his forehead touched hers. “He should never have threatened you, cariad.” He breathed deeply through his nose in the way he did when he was trying to control his temper.
“No, he should not have.” She stroked a hair from his forehead. “But my going to Avalon turned out to be a good thing. I made a difference. We can be glad of that.”
Math pressed his lips together for a moment, clearly considering his next words before he spoke. “I know now it would never occur to you to stay in Avalon without me, but if you wanted, we could all go. Seeing Christopher with his family—” he shook his head, “—I don’t ever want to experience this kind of separation again. I certainly don’t want what happened to Christopher to happen to Cadell. It could, you know.”
Anna herself was shaking her head before he’d finished speaking. “I don’t want to live there—and I certainly don’t want you to try to. I hope it’s many years before any of us have to go back.”
“It’s your home.”
“Not anymore. This time it felt like I was visiting the moon.” She paused. “No, it’s worse than that. To me, it’s as if Avalon is the land that is back in time. I feel I should know how to function there, but I don’t. Sometimes it’s almost as if I catch a glimpse of the woman I would have become if I’d stayed, but she keeps just out of sight, only visible out of the corner of my ey
e. I can never look at her directly. Truthfully, I don’t know her anymore. I certainly don’t want to be her.”
“That’s just fine by me.” He paused. “I overheard you saying something different to Dafydd, though, something about being a goose when you’re there?”
She laughed. “The goose that lays the golden egg. It means that because I was valuable to the people chasing me, nobody was going to harm me. I don’t like the metaphor, but once I thought about it more, it gave me a measure of confidence, in dealing with the people there, which I hadn’t had going in.”
“Did you say as much to Dafydd?”
“I did.”
Math laughed under his breath. “That’s why he was smiling. I’ve seen him look like that only a few times. His smile was almost … wicked.”
“Wicked? Are you sure we’re talking about the same David?”
Math grinned. “Inordinately pleased, then, and certainly proud of you. I think our king has finally come to appreciate the strengths and gifts his family and friends bring to the table.”
“Oh, I think he’s known for a long time. It’s been harder for him to exploit them because he hates putting anyone at risk other than himself.”
Math grunted. “Plenty at risk over the next few days and weeks. Avalon is the least of our problems. Unravelling Balliol’s plot is quite enough of a puzzle to be going on with.”
“We’ll solve it. Mortimer and Balliol think they’re clever and planned for everything, but look what’s become of their plan to conquer Ireland!”
“As your mother tells it, making peace there was a feat for the ages. Defeating these conspirators will be as well.”
As she looked into her husband’s face, Anna’s expression turned serious. “John Balliol and Roger Mortimer have broken the peace and threatened the security of everyone who lives in England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. They tried to murder not only David but his parents and his friends. Despite all that, if they were willing to lay down their arms, David would have forgiven them because we have grown to hate war. But Mortimer had to go after me—”
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