“Given what you’ve told me about the bridges, I may be very much delayed,” George said.
“As I would expect, Mr. Spencer.” The Consul-General ended the call.
Mom leaned forward. “So, that means—”
“We proceed as planned,” George said.
“But the airport—” Mom said.
“We’re going to Oakland,” Anna said. “That’s what you said earlier, right?”
For the first time since they’d started driving, the lines of tension around George’s mouth eased, and his expression lightened.
“The Consul-General knows that too, doesn’t she?” Callum said.
“She does,” George said. “But for some reason, Homeland Security doesn’t know that we charter private planes out of Oakland as well as San Francisco.”
“Since when?” Cassie said, laughter in her voice.
George looked at his watch. “Since the call came in from the Home Office last night. But again, it’s Black Friday. It may be the paperwork hasn’t sifted through the proper channels yet. In fact, I’m certain that the office we’re supposed to notify is closed today.”
The four passengers relaxed into their seats. For the first time since they’d entered Art’s truck nearly twelve hours ago, Anna found her breath coming easily. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself. “How long until the airport?”
“Ah. Funny you should ask.” And now George actually grinned. “It’s coming up on our right just now.”
Anna looked where George pointed to a sign that said, “Private Departures.”
“Thank God,” Mom breathed from beside Anna.
Half an hour later, as the airplane’s engines roared to life and the jet headed down the runway, Anna cracked the lid on her bottle of water. They had an eleven-hour flight to Cardiff. She’d never been very good at time zone math, but Callum said they’d arrive around six in the morning tomorrow. They wouldn’t have made it to the Middle Ages, but at least they’d be in Wales. It was a start.
Chapter Fourteen
November 1291
David
Anna and Mom had been gone for a day and a half. David was really glad that he’d slept at Aber, because nobody was going to be getting any sleep tonight. It was past midnight and they’d been riding or walking, with only a brief rest at Dolbadarn, since they’d left Bangor nearly twelve hours earlier.
To David’s huge relief, the word that had gone out from Aber had borne fruit. Men had begun to trickle into the ranks since midnight, swelling their army from the four hundred foot soldiers who’d gathered by the time they’d reached Dolbadarn, to eight hundred, and since they’d come down the road off Mt. Snowdon, the numbers had reached a thousand. Northern Welshmen were known for their spears, but every man knew how to use a bow if he had to. Before the sun rose, they might have the opportunity to use both.
By the time they set up camp between two little lakes to the east of Beddgelert, they had a much better idea of what Madog intended. Beddgelert sat at the head of a narrow gap between two hills that ran for a mile from Beddgelert to Aberglaslyn. Madog had arrayed his forces on the bottom slope of the Nantmor, facing northwest and guarding the entrance to the Aberglaslyn valley.
Madog’s intent, as far as they could tell, was to launch his attack as soon as Dad’s force exited the gap. When they’d speculated about where Madog might set his trap, Dad had assumed that he would descend from the sharp peaks rising up on either side of the gap, fall upon Dad’s small force, and create a very effective killing zone at the river bottom. It was what every Welshman worth his salt would have planned, but that didn’t seem to be what Madog intended.
Admittedly, the terrain was steep and difficult, and the swiftly flowing river that split the valley meant that Madog’s men could attack only from the eastern ridge. Still, bowmen placed upon the west side of the river could have mowed down Dad’s cavalry at six arrows a minute. Even in the dark, it would have been an uneven fight, which Dad likely would have lost.
Madog, however, appeared to be looking for a straight-up fight on a field of battle. Madog’s men were well placed on the Nantmor above a field, which would put Dad’s forces at a disadvantage because of the little warning he’d have (were he unaware of Madog’s plans) and the small amount of room to maneuver.
David would have said that it was an excellent arrangement if a far better one hadn’t lain a quarter of a mile away. Dad had spent many minutes puzzling over the disposition of Madog’s men until he remembered that even if Madog’s blood was Welsh, he had been trained in war by Englishmen. He didn’t understand bows, and it seemed that Rhys’s sons, if they were, in fact, in attendance, hadn’t been able to impress upon Madog how he might ambush Dad more effectively.
David meandered through the ranks of men, stopping at a group of ten who clustered together, sorting their arrows. Fortunately, winter hadn’t closed in yet, and in American terms David thought the temperature was roughly forty-five degrees. With his armor and thick wool cloak, he wasn’t chilled. Nor would the men be. Wool was as common as rain in Wales, and all of the men were dressed for winter, in thick cloaks, tunics, and breeches. A few didn’t wear shoes, but David thought that was by choice. Archers often fought with only one shoe to be sure of their footing. They were lucky it wasn’t raining because that froze the hands and made it hard to aim an arrow.
“Where are you from?” David said to the men.
“Dolwyddelan, my lord,” one of the men said. “My name’s Cadoc.”
“Thank you for coming,” David said. Dolwyddelan was only seven miles as the crow flies from Beddgelert, but because of the rough terrain, they had to have come at least twice that distance to reach this spot. It was the same distance Math was going to have to travel if he was going to join the fight. David hoped Math had received the message and was even now coming their way.
Another man growled. “I don’t like this Madog.”
“His father ruled these lands before my father took them from him,” David said.
“He never ruled here.” The man waved a hand. “That was to the south.”
“And even if he did,” Cadoc said. “Madog speaks no Welsh, I hear. My sister married a man from Meirionnydd. If Madog rules there, I fear they’ll be tithing to a bloody Norman from England next.” He looked hastily at David. “No offense meant, my lord.”
“None taken,” David said.
That seemed to please them, and with a nod, David moved on, intending to speak to another group of men, but then the first man, Cadoc, spoke to David’s back. “It must be hard living among foreigners, my lord. Just as long as you don’t get too used to them.”
David turned back, trying not to smile because the man was serious, and he didn’t want to appear mocking. “I am, and always will be, a Welshman. I took the throne of England so no more Normans could plant their boots in Welsh soil. I live among the English so you don’t have to.” The words had come out before David had really thought them through. He hadn’t meant to be so startlingly honest.
“You took a Welsh wife,” Cadoc said. “Didn’t think you were going to.”
There were nods all around. It went without saying that discussions of David’s personal life had taken place up and down the length of Wales since his father acknowledged him as his son; David had a brief image of the men sitting in a tavern, nodding over his decision to marry Lili.
None of them had any notion of the division that decision had created in David’s family. It was still astonishing to David how stubborn his father had been about it. He’d actually wanted David to take Lili as his mistress. She might have been willing, but it had been David who’d refused. He’d figured out before he was sixteen—before his mother explained it to him in no uncertain terms—that his station as the Prince of Wales meant that all he had to do was crook his finger, and he could have any woman he wanted. Which to David meant he couldn’t have any.
“I hope your mother and sister are well.” This co
mment came from a boy no older than William.
David canted his head in silent thanks. “I do too. It’s hard to have them gone.”
“But they’re safe, yes?” he said.
“They are safe; I am certain of it.” David rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder, nodded again in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and continued on.
William, whose Welsh was perfect, had been shadowing David this whole time. He made sure they were out of earshot before he spoke. “They don’t think much of Normans, do they?”
“No, my friend, they do not.” And if William was only discovering that now, he wasn’t as smart as David had always thought.
William looked down at his feet, thinking it through. They didn’t have much light to see by other than a few sputtering torches and campfires carefully tended to keep from smoking. They’d posted dozens of men on the heights to the west and south of the camp to give warning if any enemy scouts came this way. So far, Madog had sent scouts north along the road to Beddgelert, the direction from which he believed Dad would come, but he hadn’t sent his men this far east.
“I suppose I always knew Welshmen from Gwynedd felt that way,” William said. “It’s different in the March.”
The March was the border between England and Wales which had been fought over the by the Welsh and the Normans for two centuries.
“The Welsh and English rub along fine when they understand each other better,” David said. “My own teulu is proof of that. But these Welshmen live far from the border. And if it makes you feel any better, they think Welshmen from the south are foreign too.”
That prompted a smile from William. “Madog is very sure of the trap he has laid, isn’t he?”
“It seems so, and that worries me,” David said.
“Are you worried that we’ve got it wrong?” William said.
David stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Yes.”
“What would happen then?”
“Then we may die.”
William swallowed hard. “We may die anyway.”
“That’s true.” David started walking again. “Still, Madog can’t hide his men any more than we can truly hide ours. Our current advantage is that we know where his men are, and he only thinks he knows where we are.”
William chewed on his lower lip. He seemed about to speak again, but then he raised a hand to someone beyond David. David turned to see Samuel waving an arm above his head. William and David wended their way through the men and entered Dad’s tent. Cadwallon, Ieuan, and Carew were already there.
“It’s nearly time,” Dad said.
David contemplated his father and decided that it was his duty to air his objections one last time. “I don’t like you putting yourself in harm’s way like this.”
“Nor does anyone else,” Carew said.
Dad shot Carew a quelling look, which Carew pretended not to see, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “In fact, none of us want to see either of you leading your companies.”
“Leading from the rear isn’t leading,” David said, though modern leaders would disagree. At some point—and David wasn’t sure when in history this had happened—kings and rulers had started appointing men other than themselves to lead the actual fighting. It was probably when kings stopped being warriors. And it made sense not to sacrifice the brains of the operation to a stray arrow. But it also meant that the men ordering the death of other men never got their hands dirty, and that wasn’t how David worked.
“You are too valuable to risk,” Carew said. “Madog is a petty lord. He isn’t worth your life.”
“We’ve discussed this already,” Dad said. “Madog’s scouts cannot be completely incompetent. They will have reported to him that I rode from Aber and intended when I left to take the road through Beddgelert. It is why he set up his ambush here. Consequently, I’m the best person to lead the company that rides through the gap. All men know what I look like, and what’s more, Madog hates me. My presence on the field has a better chance of upending his reason and encouraging him to behave recklessly.”
David put up a hand. “Madog knows me too.”
Madog had come to David’s court at Winchester when he’d summoned all his lords to him, and then he’d gone to Brecon when Dad had summoned the Welsh Parliament.
Dad shook his head. “How do you say it, son? I can sell this.” He turned to Cadwallon. “We can, can’t we?”
Cadwallon nodded, rather more vigorously than David would have liked.
Dad smiled and then brought his attention back to David’s face. “My men will be loud and arrogant, riding through Beddgelert with torches blazing. We want Madog and his men looking forward, unaware that you and Ieuan are leading companies by different roads.”
Beddgelert lay two miles west of where Dad’s company was currently camped. Dad, riding with Carew and Cadwallon, would lead his two hundred cavalry to a small track between two ridges that would allow him to skirt Beddgelert to the north and bring him onto the road about half a mile above the village. He would then ride south through the town, across the bridge, and into the gap, following the eastern bank of the river Glaslyn.
Madog’s army would be waiting for him on the other end of the gap, arrayed on the western-facing downslope of the Nantmor. Dad would be caught between the river and the narrow passage behind him, with no way forward, sideways, or back.
That was Madog’s plan. The counter plan—as proposed by Ieuan—had two additional components. Ieuan was to lead the spearmen and bowmen on foot over the top of the mountain between here and Aberglaslyn. In turn, David was to take the rest of the cavalry around the back of the mountain and come in at the southern end of the valley, effectively catching Madog’s men in a pincer movement. He would drive into the back of Madog’s force before Dad and his men were slaughtered.
“This had better work,” Ieuan said, echoing David’s thoughts.
“It was your plan,” David said. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”
“It seemed like a better plan when it was I who was the bait, not the king,” Ieuan said.
“I have done this many times before.” Dad looked at David. “Did you know your mother saved my life by warning me of an ambush farther south on this same road?”
David blinked. “I did not know that.”
“It was a long time ago,” Dad said. “That time it was Goronwy who rode through the gap and I and my men who fell upon our enemy. It will be the same again.”
All this small talk, this banter of words that made it sound like they were planning an expedition to look at the standing stones on Anglesey, was, of course, a front, a cover for the truth that lay beneath: they were going to war and no man knew if he would come out the other side as whole as he went in.
Depending on how the next few hours went, history might view this fight as a little war, inconsequential in the broad scheme of things. David hoped that was the case. But men had already died—at Carndochen, Cymer, and Harlech—and no matter how effectively they surprised Madog, men were going to die today. One of them might even be him.
“Make sure your bowmen position themselves higher up the mountain than Madog’s bowmen,” David said to Ieuan. He knew better than to tell his brother-in-law his job, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel with us as the fish if you don’t.”
Ieuan nodded and refrained from sneering or otherwise calling David to account for his mother-henning. Then the tent flap flipped up, and Justin poked his head inside. “My lords, two more scouts have returned.”
“What do they say?” Ieuan said.
“Madog’s men remain settled in at Aberglaslyn,” Justin said. “They have extinguished their fires and their torches and wait for us in the dark.”
“They’re going to have a long wait.” Ieuan chewed on his lower lip. “Could this be a cover for movement to a different position? Perhaps they intend to ambush us in the gap as we originally feared?”
Justin shook his head. “The messengers report no such movement. Two more scouts remained behind to watch, and I will send the others out again.”
“What about Madog’s scouts?” Dad said. “Surely he has many too.”
“We spied two men at the bridge at Beddgelert,” Justin said.
“That’s all?” Ieuan said. “What about farther north?”
“None that the men have encountered,” Justin said, “but I report only what I was told. Madog appears to have no intention of facing you until Aberglaslyn. Those two scouts will give him plenty of warning of your approach.”
Dad nodded. “They will run as soon as they see our torches to warn Madog that we are coming. I wondered if he might post a small force at the bridge, but he must want to lure us into a false sense of security, and make us believe we have a free road until Maentwrog.”
Now William’s brow furrowed, and he turned to David. “May I speak, my lord?”
“Of course,” David said.
“You are riding to war. You would have scouts patrolling ahead of you,” he said. “Why would Madog think you wouldn’t discover his army on the hillside?”
“He believes me in my dotage,” Dad said.
William looked nonplussed.
“If he does, he’s an idiot.” David scrubbed at his hair with one hand. “Maybe Madog is an idiot, but I’m pretty sure that Rhys’s sons are not.”
“What I fear is a second force coming behind us and blocking the road back to Beddgelert once King Llywelyn has crossed the bridge,” Cadwallon said. “Such a force might be encamped to the west of the Nantile Ridge, opposite this position.”
“Have the scouts checked that location?” David said.
“Yes, my lord,” Justin said.
“And found nothing?” Carew said.
“And found nothing,” Justin said, “but in the dark and moving quietly, with the fog that has begun to creep in, they could be a hundred yards away, and we would never know it.”
Ashes of Time (The After Cilmeri Series) Page 17