Crossroads in Time (The After Cilmeri Series)

by Sarah Woodbury

  Llywelyn took in a breath through his nose and let it out. “He is my son.”

  Meg’s shoulders fell and she bent her head. Llywelyn stepped closer and pulled her into his arms. “He was dressed as a simple knight, and his English is perfect. If not for the fact that he is the Prince of Wales, I would have used him to scout the border as a matter of course. He is the best of all the men I know for disguising himself as a Saxon.”

  “Did you tell him he could marry Lili?” Meg said.

  “I did.”

  “And still he does this?” Meg bit her lip. “At least it doesn’t seem he’s running away from us or her.”

  “He’s running toward,” Math said. “He has a vision of the future, Mother, that he keeps close to his heart. It includes Lili, of course. It doesn’t include being captured by the English.”

  Meg sighed and relaxed against Llywelyn. “He does what he thinks is right. Always. I have to accept that.” Meg’s mind was recovering and had begun to work. “What makes you think this wasn’t part of Bohun’s plan in the first place? He could have encouraged his son to return to England at the first opportunity. What if his plea for help was really a ploy to lead David astray and into England?”

  “That would be devious, even for Bohun.” Llywelyn said. “Besides which, Humphrey de Bohun himself is now captive.” Llywelyn thought for a count of ten, and then shook his head. “No. We must take his information at face value. The Norman barons want their lands back, and we must defend against their efforts.”

  “What do you plan to do about them?” Meg said.

  Math cleared his throat. “Bohun didn’t tell us very much, other than that Englishmen were gathering at Bristol Castle—”

  Tudur entered the hall from a corridor to the right. “Sire! You have returned just in time!”

  Llywelyn lifted a hand to him. “And brought war with me. Is Carew still here?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Tudur said. “We’ve been strategizing all night. Ieuan should have returned to Chepstow and begun marshalling the foot soldiers. You will find that we are not unprepared for whatever is to come.”

  “Good. Get everyone together,” Llywelyn said. “I will meet with you all.”

  They retreated to Llywelyn’s office. Clare had built the castle’s private apartments, like everything else at Caerphilly, on a grand scale. Llywelyn’s office here was twice as large as at Aber, making it twice as difficult to keep warm, although that wasn’t a problem at present. Tapestries in shades of gold and red covered the walls. A single window, high in the west wall, caught the afternoon sun, peeking through the clouds that were beginning to abate. Tudur had already cleared the central table and laid a map on it, with weights at the corners.

  “From Cardiff to Chepstow.” Carew gestured with one hand. “Those are the lands which we must defend.”

  “And then north along the Wye,” Tudur said. As he was the castellan at Chepstow, Bigod’s castle built into the rock above the Wye River, it was of particular interest to him to hold fast against any assault from England.

  “We’ve known for three years that the Normans could cross the Wye River or the Severn Estuary at any time and attack us,” Llywelyn said. “That they never did so was merely a matter of being constrained by their rival loyalties.”

  “Or their fear of what we might bring to bear against them if they did,” Carew said. “No Norman baron was willing to give another the upper hand against us. As long as they were divided, we were safe.”

  “But now they’re not,” Math said.

  “All my life, they’ve been my companions,” Carew said. “Bohun, Mortimer, even Clare, although he’s ten years older than I. It was always a regret to me that our families’ shifting allegiances affected our friendships at times—especially after Evesham.”

  Evesham had been the defeat of the baronial forces, led by Simon de Montfort, in 1265. Bohun’s father had fought for Montfort and died of his wounds afterwards. Clare’s betrayal of Montfort shortly before the battle had gone a long way in ensuring the royal victory.

  “In 1265, Clare abandoned Montfort and me with his eyes open,” Llywelyn said. “He chose the royal banner because he believed he would gain the most if King Henry was victorious.” Llywelyn tipped his head at Carew. “Twenty years later, you chose to stay in Wales and side with me while he stayed loyal to the crown. Perhaps that means Clare resents you even more than he does me. All the more reason to appreciate your continued loyalty.”

  “I made my choice with my eyes open, too,” Carew said. “I have yet to regret it.”

  “Let’s make sure nobody has a reason to regret their allegiances, except the English,” Tudur said. “We can toss these bastards back into the sea. We may not want war, but we are ready for it.”

  And that was Dafydd’s doing, more than anyone else’s, even if he wasn’t here to lay his plans with the rest. At Dafydd’s insistence, Llywelyn had invested huge sums in fortifications all along the southern coast, manning every high ground—whether it was a ten foot mound or forty—above the Severn estuary. Watch towers, blinds, patrol ships that could be put to sea on an hour’s notice. It cost a fortune—as much as or more than Caerphilly. But it cost far less than losing one’s country.

  Llywelyn pointed to Tudur with his chin. “Chepstow to Monmouth. That’s your charge. See to it.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Tudur put his heels together and bowed.

  “Carew. You take Cardiff to the mouth of the Usk,” Llywelyn said. “And Math,” he clapped a hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder, “has the Usk to the Wye.”

  Math nodded. The distance across the Severn Estuary was less than two miles where the Wye flowed into the channel south of Chepstow. It widened to nearly three at a point a few miles southwest, where Dafydd claimed modern Britons had built a bridge. That was plainly impossible, but still … “You will find me at Caldicot Castle,” Math said, “when I am not watching the beach.”

  Caldicot Castle was less than a mile from the Severn Estuary, right where Llywelyn (and Dafydd) believed the English would cross, if they were to come across the estuary from Bristol. Chepstow Castle, the base from which Tudur patrolled the Wye River until it headed east near Monmouth, was close enough that communication between the King and Tudur was a matter of a fast horse and half an hour.

  “I will be at Cardiff,” Carew said. “We will signal by watchtower.”

  That was another element to their defenses: a system of watchtowers which could communicate to each other in code, merely by covering and uncovering a light in a series of pre-planned signals.

  And then there was the Greek fire. It was the most impressive, and the most terrifying, of all Dafydd’s innovations. A fleet of boats had spent the last two years riding out of their dock on the Usk, with men trained to spray fire on the enemy. The idea was to defeat them before they reached the shore. Given that the boats had patrolled the Severn Estuary for nearly two years, Math didn’t believe that most of their defenses were still a secret. Yet for the English to choose this avenue of attack? Perhaps even if the English commanders had heard of what the Welsh had built, they didn’t believe what they could do.

  And that was Dafydd’s fault too. In him, myth and legend were becoming one. It was easy to dismiss who he was, and what he could do, because his very existence was so improbable.

  “Go.” Llywelyn said. “I will be with Math at Caldicot.”

  The men dispersed, at which point, Meg appeared from a doorway to the right. The door had remained slightly ajar during their conversation, though Math hadn’t noticed it at the time.

  “Mother,” he said, accepting another embrace. They turned to walk from the room and down the hall, towards her solar.

  Meg squeezed his waist. “I haven’t even had a chance to ask you about Anna!”

  “She and Cadell intended to ride south within a day or two of my departure.” The thought had Math gritting his teeth. Anna had spoken to him of telephones—means by which two people could communicate a
long distance. He wished for that now. He needed to know that she was safe, even if she couldn’t be in his arms. If she and Cadell had left yesterday morning as they’d planned, they could be at Caerphilly in four days’ riding.

  “I’m not surprised she felt Dinas Bran was too far away. It would take too long to know how this falls out. And Bronwen, of course, is here too.”

  As Meg said the words, she pushed open the door to her solar. Bronwen and Aaron looked up as Meg and Math entered. They’d been playing chess, a game Math hated. He couldn’t tell who was winning, but Bronwen had been known to hold her own against all comers, including Aaron, who prided himself on his skill.

  “Math!” Bronwen was on her feet at the sight of them and Meg released him so Bronwen could wrap her arms around his neck. Math had never quite gotten used to how effusive these Americans he loved could be.

  “Where’s Anna?” Bronwen said, finally letting go of him enough so that he could nod his head to Aaron, who had also risen.

  “On her way here, I hope.” Math glanced towards the open window, checking the position of the sun. The afternoon had flown by, and he wished again that Anna wasn’t riding through the countryside, even if he’d left some of his best men to ride with her. “This war might be coming more quickly than we thought. I hope they push the horses and she gets here soon.”

  “And Lili?” Math heard a hitch in Bronwen’s voice when she said her sister-in-law’s name.

  “With Dafydd,” Math said.

  “Oh.” Bronwen raised her eyebrows. “Now that’s a story, I definitely want to hear.”

  Chapter 14

  27 August 1288

  Near Hay-on-Wye

  David

  David didn’t care if it wasn’t logically true: England felt different. Whether it was (what he prejudicially viewed as) the more serf-like existence of its people, the difference between being pastoral and agricultural, or something more intangible, the hairs on the back of David’s neck told him that they’d crossed into enemy territory.

  Now they just had to get back.

  “William, slow down!” David said.

  The boy pulled up, seemingly more subdued now that he’d gotten what he’d wanted. Or at least a part of it. David wanted to take the boy over his knee and paddle him.

  They’d skirted the city to the south, circled around it to the east, and waited for three carts to pass. Now, they dismounted to rest the horses and stood alone at the edge of the road near a newly harvested field of grain. The remaining stalks stood up every which way. It looked as if scavengers had already picked it over.

  “You should be ashamed for pulling a jester’s act like this,” Lili said. She’d berated him earlier, but now it looked like he was in for a greater degree of chastisement. David was perfectly happy to let Lili get on with it.

  William’s chin jutted out. “I have to rescue my father.”

  “At the cost of your honor? What would you father say to that?” Lili said.

  William’s expression turned mulish. “I did what I had to do.”

  “And that will relieve your father when he realizes that his son hasn’t the integrity to fulfill his bargains?” Lili said.

  “Lili—” David wasn’t sure she should be taking this approach. William might run away again.

  But Lili turned on him. “Don’t you start! Humphrey de Bohun, and by his presence, William, agreed that he should be your squire. A squire who runs away from his master spends the night in the dungeon where I come from!”

  William stared at her, wide-eyed, while David tried not to smile. Despite his initial misgivings, Lili’s medieval version of good cop/bad cop—even if unintentional because she was sincere—looked like it was working. David decided to go along with her. “He’s just a boy—”

  “As he’s proven today!” Lili glared at William, whose face had paled. He hadn’t thought about it this way, child of privilege that he was. As Lili had known, talk of dishonor was not something a Bohun could take lightly. She continued, “If he was a man, he would have made a man’s plan, in conjunction with his lord, not gone without one into England!”

  David rubbed his chin as he studied William. “She has a point, William. What do you say to her? I stand before you, but if one of those English soldiers knew who I was, he would have taken me captive in a heartbeat or possibly killed me on sight and brought my head to his lord. You had—have—my life in your hands.”

  “I didn’t ask you to come—”

  “And again, that shows how little respect you have for the Prince of Wales,” Lili said.

  Lili had browbeaten William into submission, not that he didn’t need to hear what she had to say. The boy stared down at his feet, chewing on his lower lip and digging the toe of his boot into the dirt. “I didn’t think of those things.”

  “Obviously,” Lili said.

  David cleared his throat. “Do you understand that you can’t rescue your father. Not today?”

  Another sullen look from William. He really hated being in the wrong. “Yes.”

  “Do you understand that you must do what I say, because I say it? This is not about your father anymore,” David said.

  A hard swallow. “Yes.”

  “Good,” David said. “We’ll put the matter of your flight aside, then, until my father can take it up with your father. Which he will.”

  William lifted his head and stared at David. “But if my father dies—”

  “I am not abandoning your father, William,” David said. “But I refuse to go along with a boy who has no plan, beyond the feeble notion of rescue and revenge. If you are to serve me, you need to live by what is in your head, not your heart.”

  William’s temper was rising again. “This is my choice—”

  David overrode him. “When one is a prince—or a Norman lord—no choice is truly ever your own.”

  William glared at David for a count of five, and then heaved a sigh. David sensed true capitulation. Now was the time for magnanimity.

  “The issue before us now is getting back to Wales before anyone recognizes either you or me.” William’s mouth opened to reply but David wasn’t finished. “This isn’t about cowardice, William, or failure to do one’s duty. This is about common sense. I have men to advise me, men who know your father, and have fought with him in the past. Among all of us, surely we can come up with a way to rescue him without the three of us going unprepared into the lion’s den.”

  William licked his lips, his eyes on David’s. Then, he pointed west with a jerk of his chin. “Wales is that way. It’s a simple matter to ride to it.”

  “It is not a simple matter,” David said. “I’m surprised you don’t know it.”

  “But—” William said.

  “We can’t ride back the way we came without those guards stopping us and very likely, turning us back,” David said. “Did you notice what they did after we passed?”

  Both William and Lili shook their heads. “I didn’t want to alarm you at the time, but two overturned carts now block the road. Perhaps we could go around their blockade, or even jump it, but I would prefer not to risk an arrow in the back if I don’t have to.”

  “The other paths aren’t any easier,” Lili said. “To the north of Hay, the Wye River is more of a barrier than Offa’s Dyke.”

  “There’s a ford at Rhydspence—” William said.

  “It’s guarded,” Lili said. “My brother told me.”

  “Well, then …” William paused to think. “Further south, the Black Mountains block our way, though we could get through them given time …”

  “Not without great effort,” David said. “And certainly not in time to help my father win this war.”

  William finally seemed to have come to true understanding. He bowed. “I apologize, my lord. I didn’t think. It won’t happen again.”

  Fortunately, Lili didn’t express her disbelief, though like David, she surely must have thought about it. David gazed south and then west. “We will do what w
e must. The nearest southern passage into Wales along a road is at Abergavenny.”

  “That’s twenty miles from here!” Lili said. “Plus, I’m sure it’s guarded too.”

  “We have another option,” William said. “My father rules at Clifford Castle since John Giffard died at Lancaster. That’s where I was heading tonight.”

  David had forgotten about that particular addition to the Bohun fortune. “So you weren’t going to ride all the way to London in the dark?”

  William shook his head, looking sheepish. “I was hungry and it was raining …” His voice trailed off.

  “The castle perches on a cliff and guards a ford across the Wye,” David said, for Lili’s benefit. And then added, since English was not her first language, “which is where we get the name Clifford.”

  “It’s two miles from here, if that,” William said.

  “Lead on,” David said.

  They remounted their horses and headed north along the road. Lili moved closer to David, just behind William, who led the way. “And if one of Bohun’s many enemies has taken Clifford?”

  “Then the conspiracy is far vaster than we anticipated. All the more reason to get back to Wales before we become pawns in the Norman game.”

  The castle sat on a natural knoll lying alongside the Wye River. It was a steep drop to the ford that gave the castle its name. It had belonged to the Cliffords until the line died out and merged with the Giffards. The moment the towers appeared in the distance, William pulled up.

  “Is something amiss?” Lili said.

  “The flag that flies above the castle is the wrong one,” William said.

  It looked right to David. “It’s the white swan,” he said.

  “My father swore that until I found the crown of England upon my head, we would not fly that flag anywhere. It is his personal banner, not the standard of the House of Bohun,” William said.

  “Which means—” Lili stared at the flag instead of finishing her sentence.