Ashes of Time (The After Cilmeri Series)

by Sarah Woodbury

  While their captains herded Madog’s men to one side of the battlefield, forcing them to sit in rows near the river with their hands on their heads, Math and Carew conferred with each other fifty yards from David.

  Taking in the scene, David had to acknowledge that they’d been arrogant and reckless. Together, he and Dad had committed themselves to dying—and their men to dying. David couldn’t pretend it meant nothing. Even now, with victory assured, his knees shook at the thought of what could have been, and he was glad that he was mounted so nobody else could see them tremble.

  David should have known he was fooling no one but himself.

  “What were you thinking?” The look Math gave David as he approached could have split wood. Math dismounted, and David did the same, the better to face their disagreement head on.

  Math hadn’t said ‘my lord’. He didn’t take David’s hand or embrace him. He was angry, and he sounded like Bevyn, who might have ripped David up one side and down the other had he been here.

  “We did what we had to,” David said.

  “That’s your defense?” Math turned on Carew. “You condoned this action?”

  Carew’s nostrils flared. “We thought we had the advantage, or as much of one as we were going to get against a larger force.”

  “We were supposed to come behind Madog’s army at Harlech!” Math said.

  “Madog’s army wasn’t there,” David said, working up to a more proper defense of their actions. “It was they who set up the initial ambush.”

  “And you who walked into it!” Math said. “You’re the King of England! You have the responsibility not to be stupid!”

  David rubbed his chin with one hand, studying his brother-in-law. David didn’t see how this conversation was going to turn fruitful, given that Math’s criticism—though entirely valid—was after the fact. David didn’t say that to him, however. It wouldn’t accomplish anything but cut Math down and throw David’s own weight around. He didn’t want that kind of relationship with his brother-in-law. Whether or not Math could ever forget it, David didn’t want to play the King of England with him.

  “I killed Madog.”

  Math snorted his derision, but then he pressed his lips together, preventing himself from berating David further.

  David looked away to gather his thoughts. Then he met Math’s gaze again. “As I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time. The alternative to meeting Madog here was to bypass his force and continue on to Harlech, but that would have done us little good if he’d continued north and taken another castle—Aber, for instance.”

  Carew cleared his throat. He had been listening to the conversation, but his eyes hadn’t left the bus, and he used the opportunity to change the subject. “My lord, if you could give me a word for that … thing?”

  “It’s called a bus. It runs on burning naptha,” David said, hauling out the old explanation. “There nothing magical about it.”

  “Except how it arrived,” Carew said.

  David’s lips twisted. “Except that.” He turned to look at the bus with Carew. “Though I would also say that magic is merely something for which we don’t yet have a proper explanation.”

  “Your mother and sister went to Avalon,” Justin said. “You said so earlier.”

  “So I did, and so they did.”

  “Then that is all the explanation we need,” Justin said.

  David made a noncommittal noise. That might be the case for Justin—and David’s most loyal followers—but not everyone was going to feel that way.

  William had retreated a few paces during Math’s excoriation of David, but now he moved closer, his eyes wide with excitement and expectation. “May I enter it?” The adrenaline rush of the battle, and the fact that he’d lived through it, was still coursing through his veins.

  “If there’s time,” David said. “We have many wounded.”

  William nodded, not at all deflated, and David looked back to the bus, wondering if they’d be so lucky as to have a real doctor on board.

  “My lord,” Math said, his tone under control and back to being an advisor and brother, “none of us are physicians, and we have a more pressing task. We must see to Rhys’s wayward offspring.”

  As one, the companions turned outward, looking away from the bus for a sign of the two brothers.

  “Did they fall with Madog under the bus?” William said. From the way he said ‘bus’, David had a feeling it was going to be a staple of his vocabulary from now on.

  “I know the brothers by sight,” Carew said, “and I didn’t see them when Madog fought King David. I don’t see them now.”

  “Deciding the battle was lost, would they have run?” David said.

  Among the Welsh, this wouldn’t have been a strike against them but purely a practical matter of staying free to fight another day.

  “They still hold Carndochen and Cymer,” Math said. “If nothing else, one of those castles could provide a temporary refuge until they flee south to their father.”

  “If Lord Rhys is as smart as I think he is, he’ll pretend he knew nothing of Madog’s plans,” Carew said. “Mark my words.”

  David nodded. That was medieval-speak for I called it! Rhys wouldn’t be the first father to hang his sons out to dry when a king tasked him with treason. Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, whose son, Owain, had plotted with Dad’s brother, Dafydd, had seen the error of his ways in a similar fashion. Oddly, David found that he missed the gruff old soldier, who’d died a few years ago of old age and without an heir. He would have had a few choice words to say about today’s events.

  Good Norman that he was, Justin was looking offended at the notion that the brothers would have abandoned their men if they thought the battle was lost. David put a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t say that Rhys and his sons wouldn’t be called to account for their sins, only that Carew was right about the manner by which Rhys would try to weasel out of punishment. My father will see to him. You’ll see.”

  William was horrified too. “Madog is dead and what might Rhys lose? A castle? A few acres of land?”

  “Politics.” Justin shook his head.

  Math laughed. “Son, it is the blood in every nobleman’s veins.”

  Chapter Twenty

  November 1291

  Meg

  Meg wanted to laugh and cry and shriek all at the same time. When that corner of the courthouse had come flying towards the bus, Meg barely registered what she was seeing before it hit. Death, really, because it would have rocketed right through the bus. And here she was, held tightly in Llywelyn’s arms where she belonged. It was as if she’d been holding her breath for two days and hadn’t known it. And all of a sudden, between one instant and the next, all was right with the world again.

  “Cariad.” Llywelyn kissed her temple.

  Meg wanted to fall to the ground with him and never stop kissing him, but she couldn’t in front of all these people.

  Llywelyn smiled into her eyes, reading her mind easily. “You brought back more than a few visitors, my love.”

  “Believe me, it wasn’t our intent.”

  “I wouldn’t have chosen for you to fall into the middle of our war either,” he said. “You could have been killed.”

  Meg didn’t want to hear that, but it seemed obvious that he and David had gotten themselves into a dangerous situation—a life-threatening situation. When David had come to the Middle Ages at fourteen, he hadn’t been a soldier, but his father had turned him into one as quickly as he could. It had literally been a matter of life or death. While David’s dream was to create a new country—a united Britain—and fighting this so-called ‘little war’ might be the first step towards the fulfillment of that dream, Meg’s wish for her son and husband was that they might no longer need to go to war at all.

  Llywelyn pulled a bit away from Meg so he could see her face better. The movement made him wince and lean slightly to his left, as if he was protecting his side.

  “What is it?” Meg fra
med his face with her hands, not hiding her sudden rush of fear for him—as well as the tears that were forming at the corners of her eyes against her will.

  Llywelyn brushed the tears away with his thumbs. “I am well, cariad. David too.”

  “Then what’s wrong?” Meg put her hand down at his side.

  He winced again. “It’s nothing. The time for worrying is past.”

  She didn’t believe him. Something was wrong with him, though none of the blood on him was his. Adrenaline could mask a lot of ills, however. It would soon be wearing off—for him and for every other man here. She made a mental note to make Llywelyn address whatever was hurting him the moment she managed to leave this bus.

  Llywelyn kissed Meg’s forehead one more time, looking in her eyes to let her know he wanted to do a lot more than that, and then disappeared back outside. They’d been apart for two days, which had been a lifetime for both of them, but compared to their previous partings, it was nothing. Meg knew that he would find them a quiet moment before the end of the day to hold each other properly and talk, but it couldn’t happen in front of all these out of place and terrified people.

  Then Anna tugged on her sleeve. “I’d say we have a lot worry about at the moment.”

  Meg turned to look at the crowd that had gathered around them. Llywelyn had meant his words to be for Meg alone, but Anna wasn’t wrong. Meg raised her hand above her head and waved it, but when that didn’t catch the attention of more than one or two people, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey!”

  The talking stopped, and everyone looked at her. Those who’d traveled on the upper level of the bus had come down, the last stragglers sitting on the steps of the stairs. Cassie had gotten the obnoxious American under control by whispering urgent words in his ear that had caused his face to pale. When she returned to Meg’s side, she didn’t tell Meg what she’d said, and Meg didn’t ask.

  Meg began: “I can’t tell you how or why this has happened, only that you have fallen into the middle of a medieval battlefield. That should be obvious to you by now given the carnage outside these windows. Now, Callum—” Meg put a hand on Callum’s arm, “—hasn’t been letting you off the bus because the battle was ongoing and you’d only get in the way. I still need most of you to remain on the bus so we can figure out who you are and where we go from here, but for now I need a show of hands of anyone who has medical training or experience.”

  “Who are you?” The questioner was a well-dressed man in his mid-fifties, with distinguished graying hair and a thickness to him that spoke of too many restaurant meals.

  Callum made a dismissive motion with his hand, but Meg said, “I am the Queen of Wales.”

  Several people blinked, but the response was something less than Meg might have hoped. Shock was still the order of the day. The overweight businessman sputtered and was joined by the obnoxious American, a much larger man with broad shoulders and a thick chest.

  “I got this, Mom.” Anna stepped towards the two men. “What are your names?”

  They didn’t know to whom she was speaking, which may well have been Anna’s intent. Each shot the other an uncertain glance, and then the taller man stuck out his chin. “Mike.”

  “I’m Gordon Hardin,” the older man said, clearly with the expectation that it should mean something to his listeners. Success in business had obviously made him think he was smarter than everyone else and deserved adulation. Several people on the bus murmured, but Meg didn’t catch their words and his name didn’t mean anything to her.

  Anna plowed on. “Okay, Mike and Gordon. Here’s the deal. You have time traveled—well, if you want to get technical, you’ve world-shifted—to the Middle Ages. And at least for now, you’re stuck here with us.”

  A woman of about forty, who was sitting near Anna, raised her hand like she was in school. “How do you know this?”

  Meg appreciated her restraint since at least she was polite. But even as the woman spoke, her eyes tracked to the scene outside the bus. Meg might have asked her, how could you not know this, but since both Meg and Anna had spent their initial hours in the Middle Ages uncertain about where they were—and then not wanting to admit where they were—Anna was understanding and answered her civilly.

  “I’ve lived here for the last nine years. We were visiting your world when that building exploded and sent us back here.” Anna held up her hand again. “Yes, to get this out of the way, if it’s anyone’s fault you’re here, it’s mine. Sorry. I can’t help when the time traveling happens, and this time I took all of you with me.”

  Meg couldn’t believe Anna was saying that—taking the heat for Meg and for all of them. She wanted to protest. She would have if it wasn’t already too late and would have complicated matters even more.

  “Of course, we’d probably be dead if we hadn’t come with you,” Cassie said.

  Anna shot her a grateful look. “True.”

  While Gordon muttered something Meg didn’t catch, Mike elbowed the two people standing between him and Anna out of his way and stalked down the aisle towards her. “How do we get home?”

  “We don’t.” Meg moved to stand beside Anna. “And let me say this once: if you speak to my daughter in that tone of voice again, I will see you in chains.”

  Mike clenched his fist and waved it in Meg’s face. “Don’t you threaten—”

  Two seconds later he was face down on the floor, taken down so quickly Meg hadn’t seen who’d done it. Not Anna; it was a total stranger, who’d been sitting next to Mark and Darren. Callum edged his way past Anna and Meg to where the man knelt with his knee in Mike’s back. Darren had risen too. His hand rested under his jacket at the small of his back. Meg recognized the stance. It meant he had a gun back there. Meg was glad he hadn’t drawn it.

  Callum nudged Mike with the toe of his shoe. “We’d appreciate it if you’d stop being such an ass.”

  The man twisted his neck to look up at Callum and gaped at him—who wouldn’t if those words had been spoken to him in Callum’s fabulous upper crust accent—but then he started sputtering again.

  Ignoring Mike, Callum held out his hand to the stranger. The man wore fatigues and had a crew cut, so it didn’t take a genius to realize he was military. “I am Lord Callum, Earl of Shrewsbury, lately of MI-5. Who are you?”

  “Peter Cobb, sir.” He shook Callum’s hand.

  “Thanks for your help.” Callum tipped his head to Darren, who moved forward to help Peter manhandle Mike to his feet, his arms twisted up behind his back.

  Mike started shouting obscenities at the treatment, but Darren and Peter held him tightly and headed him out of the bus, to the shocked silence of everyone else on it. Even Gordon had stopped his protests and was staring at Anna and Meg with wide eyes. Before Callum exited, he turned back to look at Mark. “Help Meg and Cassie take inventory, will you? We need names, histories, skills. We’ve got to figure out who these people are, and what we’re going to do with them.”

  Mark gaped at him for a second, and then his expression cleared. He stood, opened his backpack, and took out a notebook and pen. Then he held out the backpack to Meg. “What’s in there is for David.”

  She didn’t take the backpack. “Keep it and give it to him yourself when you get a chance.”

  He took another step towards her. “The first time Callum talked about coming here, for about five seconds I thought about asking to come with him. But I’m not a soldier! Did you see that bloke who took down Mike? That’s who David needs.”

  Cassie shook her head. “You heard Callum. He’s already given you a job, one he trusts you to do better than anyone else on this bus. More even than me.”

  Mark snorted. “Not more than you.” He turned to Meg. “Or you.”

  “I’m the Queen of Wales, Mark,” Meg said, “and Cassie is the Countess of Shrewsbury. Callum should have phrased it better when he spoke to you. He should have asked us to help you.”

  Anna put her hand up and waved it at the muttering cro
wd one more time. “Medical people? Do we have any?”

  Three people raised their hands.

  “Yay,” said Anna in an undertone. And then louder. “Do any of you speak Welsh?”

  Two of them nodded. That was a good start, though medieval Welsh was going to take some getting used to and initially would be incomprehensible to them. At least they would know some of the mechanics and how the language was structured.

  Meg nodded at Anna. “Go ahead. That’s your thing. I bet there’s a first aid kit by the driver’s seat. We have men out there who need help.”

  The people who’d raised their hands seemed eager to get off the bus, until they reached the bottom step and stood on it, temporarily frozen at the sight of what lay before them. Anna gestured them forward.

  Meg turned back to Mark, content to leave the medical situation to her daughter, and sure that she should. All of the time travelers had struggled at one time or another with how to occupy themselves intellectually in the Middle Ages—a time when the vast majority of women weren’t educated at all, and the range of professions for women was sharply limited. While caring for her two-year-olds was a full time job currently, so was being the Queen of Wales.

  Under other circumstances, Meg would have been out there nursing the fallen, regardless of her skill, but at the moment, the forty lost and scared twenty-first-century people were the higher priority. If Mark took on their welfare long-term, he would be occupied for many months to come and be doing them all a great service.

  “So, Mark,” Cassie said. “What do you want us to do?”

  Mark cleared his throat and surveyed the people on the bus. They’d quieted in the last few minutes and now watched Mark intently. Cassie raised her eyebrows, still waiting, but with a smile hovering around her lips.

  Mark took in a breath and handed the pen and notepad to Cassie. “The job, I guess.” He nodded to the crowd before him. “Let’s start with everybody’s names.”