Callum released the women, who showed no signs of letting go of each other, and walked to where Art and his friend stood. “Thank you.” Callum held out his hand to the stranger.
“No problem.” As Art introduced Callum to Jim, they shook hands more like Callum was used to, with a firm grip that was almost a test of manhood. “I was happy to help.”
“Where did you find them?” Callum said.
“On the road,” Jim said. “Hitchhiking.”
Callum grimaced. “I appreciate you picking them up. That would have been a long walk to Mission.”
Jim nodded. “Good thing you showed up when you did. Meg wanted me to leave them here. I didn’t want to do that, but I couldn’t force them back into the truck if they didn’t want to go.”
Callum read curiosity in Jim’s eyes, but after neither Callum nor Art explained what was going on, Jim nodded his head at Art. “I’ll be off.”
“Thanks again,” Callum said.
“Glad it all worked out,” Jim said.
Art watched Jim go and then turned to Callum. “Does this mean Cassie will be leaving again? With you? With them?”
“I think so,” Callum said. “I go where she goes, so it’s probably a better question to ask her.”
Art looked at Callum for a long count of ten, his gaze back to impassive, and then he nodded. “I like who she became there. I like who she is when she’s with you.”
Callum blinked. That was as high a praise as he could ever imagine receiving from Art.
Then Art raised a hand, and somehow that small motion brought everyone’s attention to him. “Dinner’s waiting.”
Chapter Six
November 1291
David
Anna and Mom had been gone for two hours. The family’s situation remained unchanged, but reality had set in, and the people at Rhuddlan had recovered from their initial shock. The family was eating the rest of their meal in the great hall, attempting to put a brave face on the disaster. Hopefully, David’s calm response had helped to ease people’s worries, but still, it was going to be the talk of Gwynedd for days, if not weeks, to come. Longer if Mom and Anna didn’t return quickly.
David sat on the dais, watching his people and contemplating the great secret his family had been keeping these last nine years. All that time, David had walked a fine line between modern man and medieval lord, and with Mom and Anna’s disappearance, reconciling the two wasn’t getting any easier.
David glanced at his father, who was sitting back in his chair, eating no more than David. David caught his eye and then reached out a hand to his cup and lifted it to him in a silent toast, as he had before Marty had come. Dad drank as well, though like David, he wouldn’t drink much tonight. David had learned—eventually, but he’d learned—that a king couldn’t afford to allow wine to cloud his judgment. And especially not tonight, not with Mom gone and war on the horizon.
Arthur played at David’s feet with a wooden horse that one of David’s men-at-arms had whittled for him. Arthur knew horses and carts and carriages, but David couldn’t help thinking that his birthright was equally cars and trains and spaceships. He spoke American to Arthur, while Lili spoke Welsh and his nanny spoke English. Until those words tonight, claiming his name, Arthur had barely spoken any of them beyond ‘ma’ and ‘ta’, which was an abbreviated Welsh word for father, ‘tad’.
Mom insisted that Arthur would speak when he deemed it necessary, and David knew his son was perfectly bright in other ways. He just couldn’t help wondering, if they’d lived in the modern world, if a doctor wouldn’t have been able to explain what was wrong with him, if anything was wrong with him at all.
How would David know? And how would David know the right time tell Arthur that his father had been born in a distant world where there were planes, trains, and automobiles? Where men had landed on the moon? How did he tell him of a land where men didn’t wear swords or ride horses into battle as he would be expected to? How was David to teach his son to be the King of England he needed to become, while making sure Arthur was a man whose mind could encompass far more than that?
The time traveling was a secret from the world at large lest one of them—more likely Anna, Bronwen, or Mom—be labeled a witch in this superstitious age. So David couldn’t speak of it to Arthur, for fear that he would inadvertently betray the truth. Admittedly, Arthur wasn’t talking now, but who was to say that his seven-year-old future self wouldn’t want to talk to a friend about his father’s hidden green minivan because he didn’t understand why he shouldn’t? When did keeping secrets from the rest of the world become keeping secrets from his son?
“Don’t watch your people so closely,” Lili said, leaning in to speak low in David’s ear. “You’re making them nervous.”
“They are giving me more space than usual,” he agreed.
She shook her head. “They were doing that already.”
“Were they? I didn’t notice.”
“They remember the Prince of Wales you once were and wonder if the King of England they see before them is the same person or a different beast entirely. They’re wary, especially now that you’ve sent your mother and sister to Afalon.”
“I didn’t send—”
Lili shot her husband a withering look. “You sent them to Afalon to save them from Marty.”
“Okay, okay.” David sat back in his seat. “It isn’t what I told them, but it’s what I mean them to think.”
It was only then, as David watched Arthur put his head close to Cadell’s, the two boys communicating in whatever fashion worked for them, that he recognized the evidence before him. What might be possible for Arthur stood right in front of him in the shape of his nephew. Cadell, like Arthur, was a child of two worlds and knew it because Anna had never tried to hide who she was from her children. And if Cadell had a certain swagger and confidence beyond his years, David could hardly begrudge the result.
Lili patted his arm. “Arthur is fine. We all are. You’ll know the right time to tell him.”
David’s eyes widened in mock horror. “You’ve been reading my mind!”
She kissed his cheek. He had an urge to grab her and kiss her for a lot longer, but there were too many people in the room. Her eyelashes flared as she read his thoughts again.
“Afalon is real, Dafydd,” Dad said from the other side of Lili. “Don’t run from it or yourself. This is who you are.”
“Your people used to love you, Dafydd. They want to still,” Lili added. “Let them. Show them you’re the same boy who came to them when he was fourteen and won their hearts inside of a week.”
“It wasn’t exactly a week,” David said, but at another one of her looks, he stopped arguing. Of course she was right. She always was. “Perhaps I should mingle.” Standing, David bent to Arthur and swung him onto his hip. Arthur gave a squeal and put an arm around his father’s neck, coming along willingly as David strolled from the dais. Small children were the perfect icebreaker. David made his way among the tables, greeting people as he should have greeted them earlier.
One man told a tale to his neighbors about that first battle David had fought against King Edward when he was fourteen; another lamented his gout; a third complained that his neighbor had moved a boundary stone. Everybody wanted to talk to him, and as the evening progressed and tongues loosened, David felt a real warmth directed at him.
Arthur listened while sucking on his finger, as he often did when he wasn’t entirely sure of what was happening. When a woman introduced Arthur to her seventh son, who was the same age, David could tell that both he and Arthur were making real progress. The two boys eyed each other warily. But then Arthur took his forefinger from his mouth and squirmed to be put down, which meant that he’d decided the little boy might be a viable playmate.
An hour later, Ieuan, Carew, and Goronwy joined David by the fireside, and a small group gathered to discuss the state of politics in Wales. David found his breath easing out in relief. He made mistakes all the time, b
ut some were correctable.
The door to the great hall swung open. “Sire!”
David turned to look. He didn’t recognize the messenger, but Dad, who’d been sitting at the central seat on the dais, rose to his feet. The messenger strode down the hall towards him, and David drifted along in his wake. If Marty hadn’t half killed the steward, the messenger would never have been allowed to get this far, and David had been remiss in not appointing a replacement immediately. News, whether good or bad, should have gone through Alan to David and should not be shouted to the whole castle without either Dad or David knowing the gist of it first.
“I will speak to the guards at the gate.” Goronwy had come with David and spoke low in his ear. “Who should replace Alan?”
“I trust your judgment,” David said. “You, certainly, for the time that we’re here if it pleases you, but I’ll need another soon. Better to choose him now.”
“I’ll see to it after we hear what the messenger has to say,” Goronwy said.
David picked up the pace, striding towards Dad and the newcomer, who stopped a few feet from the dais and bowed.
“What is it?” Dad said.
“My lord! Sire!” The messenger looked from David to Dad and back again, and then went down on one knee, which was probably the best choice he could have made. “I bring news from the west. Harlech is under siege, and Carndochen and Cymer have fallen.”
David cursed under his breath. Stunned whispers that rose to anxious chatter swept around the hall. David spun around and raised his hand, calling for his people’s attention yet again. As everyone had their eyes riveted on what was happening at the front of the hall, it took only a few seconds before the crowd quieted enough for David to speak.
But then his father came around the table to stand beside him, and David bent his head, gesturing that he should take the floor. It was David’s castle, but Dad was the King of Wales.
“We’ve had several shocks today, but this isn’t one of them,” Dad said. “Dafydd and I have been watching this situation closely and have already developed a plan to respond.” Dad canted his head to David. “As of this moment, we are at war.”
David nodded. “All men-at-arms should see their captains immediately. We will send out a general call for every man who can hold a spear or shoot an arrow, and for the rest—” He swept his gaze around the hall, looking at the old, the children, and the women, “—you should remain here where you will be safe.”
As David had hoped, this little speech both settled the people down and brought those who should be moving to their feet. He placed a hand on the messenger’s shoulder. “Come with me.”
“Yes, my lord.” The messenger swallowed hard. David hadn’t meant anything by the words and hadn’t thought his tone was particularly harsh, but perhaps the man was realizing for the first time that he’d done something wrong.
“Father?” David said.
“Indeed.” Dad headed for the door.
David looked questioningly at Lili and Bronwen. If they were going to build this new world order, women needed to have a say in war as well as peace.
Lili and Bronwen looked at each other, however, and then Bronwen said, “We’re good.”
“We’ve got seven kids to care for between the two of us, and I trust you to do whatever needs doing.” Lili waved a hand at her husband.
David eyed Lili carefully. Her bow was upstairs in their chamber, a stone’s throw away. “Really?”
“You can always ask us if you need our help,” Bronwen said. “And we’ll be happy to second guess you later if you like.”
David laughed, and Ieuan kissed the top of his wife’s head. They departed, moving down the south corridor towards Dad’s office with a phalanx of men. Samuel fell in beside Justin, and the two men nodded at each other. Samuel had been Callum’s eyes and ears in Shrewsbury since before Callum’s exile in the modern world. Like Carew, he’d come to Rhuddlan to consult with David—and instead found himself in the middle of a war.
David honestly was glad to think about something else besides the loss of Mom and Anna. Once in the receiving room, David, his father, and their advisors formed a half-circle around the messenger, who shifted from foot to foot, gazing from one lord to another. He hadn’t often seen so much authority gathered in one place.
Dad said, “Speak.”
The messenger cleared his throat and spoke as if reciting word for word what he’d been told. “I bring news from Harlech. Madog ap Llywelyn is attempting to reclaim Meirionnydd for himself, with the help of Rhys and Maredudd, sons of Lord Rhys ap Maredudd. Overnight, Madog took the castles at Cymer and Carndochen, and he besieges Harlech even now. I fled just ahead of them.”
“Evan sent you?” Carew said.
The messenger bowed his head. “Yes, my lord.”
The captains of David’s teulu had a distressing habit of becoming so good at their jobs that David was forced to elevate them to ever higher positions of authority. Which then required David to find new captains. After becoming King of England, David had very reluctantly parted with Evan, who’d become his captain after David lost Ieuan to Bronwen. Evan’s change of position wasn’t because he had in any way failed in his post, but because he’d proved to be capable of far more. Dad and David needed men they could trust. Evan was one of them, and David’s father had given him command of Harlech and its forces.
Since Evan’s departure to Harlech, David had promoted a half-Norman/half-Saxon Englishman named Justin to be his new captain. Justin had distinguished himself during the battle of Windsor two years ago.
Dad’s expression remained calm—unnaturally so. Underneath the façade, the fact that Madog had so easily taken Carndochen and Cymer had him in a rage.
“Harlech has never been tested,” Goronwy said.
“But Evan has,” David said.
After consultation with Mom, Dad had abandoned Castell y Bere after the English burned it in 1283 and built new castles to defend Gwynedd, one of them at Harlech, a stone castle built on a high bluff that made it possible to fortify it directly from the sea. King Edward, if he’d lived, would have built an iron ring of castles (as the history books said) all around Gwynedd to control the unrest he’d created in the populace by murdering Dad. With Edward dead instead, Dad had focused on defense against outside threats, rather than inside ones. Though, with David’s ascension to the throne of England, even that had become far less of a concern.
Until now.
“How many men does Madog have?” Math said.
“Some two thousand,” the messenger said.
“Where did he find two thousand men to betray Wales?” Cadwallon said. He’d been a boy when he’d ridden in Aunt Elisa’s minivan outside Buellt six years ago. That he’d matured into a responsible young man was due in no small part to his near-death experience at the hand of Humphrey de Bohun, who’d left him for dead along with several others of David’s guard. Cadwallon’s recovery had been long, but he’d come through, eventually rejoining Dad’s company and rising to captain. Still, Cadwallon retained a touch of innocence about him, and he was quick to show both enthusiasm and ire on Dad’s behalf.
“Madog and Rhys have been sowing unrest among their men for forty years,” Dad said. “Besides which, a good soldier goes where his lord points. Many men believe that it isn’t their place to question their orders.”
“We can’t pity Madog or his men. This rebellion must be put down.” Carew swept a hand through his blonde hair, which was receding from his temples now that he was approaching forty. “We can give no quarter.”
Dad nodded at Carew, but then transferred his gaze to David, his eyes questioning.
“Do you think I might object?” David said. “Rule of law is all. Madog commits treason in marching on Meirionnydd, and his transgressions must be met with the strongest force possible. Afterwards, the moment the battle turns in our favor, I would hope that the killing could cease. I don’t like seeing any man die after a cause is lost. Then
will be the time for mercy. But that time is not now.”
David hadn’t always understood that. He hadn’t been raised to be a soldier, and growing up in the modern world had not prepared him for the realities of ruling a medieval kingdom. But three years as the King of England had shown him the necessity of being selectively ruthless. William de Valence had swung at the end of a long rope because sometimes harsh measures had to be taken. Even so, Valence had been tried before a jury of his peers and found guilty of treason. His death was a consequence of the rule of law.
Democracy might be making inroads into this new medieval world they were trying to create, but Dad was still the King of Wales and held the reins of power. Someday, if David’s vision of a united Britain came into being, he might not have the unilateral power to wage war. Perhaps it was hypocritical of David to be glad that change hadn’t yet come. For now, men were dying and would continue to die until their king responded in force. Or gave in.
None of the men collected in the room saw that as an option.
While David wouldn’t necessarily call himself a violent man, violence had become part of his life, and the potential for it was there always, latent and coiled inside him, waiting to be called forth as needed. David had killed men with his own hands. If Rhys and Madoc had their way, David would kill more. The taste of it was like ash in his mouth, dry and bitter.
Callum had told David of his Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. In hearing Callum describe it, David wasn’t sure that his friend had anything on David himself or many of the men he knew. How could something be considered a disorder when more men had it than not?
“It’s fifty miles as the crow flies from here to Harlech,” Math said.
“Then we’d better get started,” Dad said. “Send out a call. We must leave Rhuddlan before midnight to reach Aber before dawn.”
Ashes of Time (The After Cilmeri Series) Page 7