Chapter Nine
David
“My lord … may I ask you something?” William de Bohun said.
At sixteen years old, William had become a full-fledged member of the Order of the Pendragon. Although no longer a child, he still looked at David through the same calm brown eyes he’d shown in the church outside Llangollen. David had taken him on as his squire not merely as a way to control his father, which was a good reason in and of itself, but because he was a member of the up-and-coming generation of Anglo-Normans. If David was to rule England, he needed to win the hearts and minds of William and his peers.
Besides, David liked him.
“Of course,” David said.
“About what happened this evening …” William paused again, and David could practically see the gears turning in that blond head as he tried to think of the best way to phrase what he wanted to ask.
David waited while William stalled by tightening down the buckle on David’s left bracer a little too tightly. David put his free hand on William’s arm and looked at him. “Just ask.”
“I was standing on the battlement with a sentry when your sister and mother arrived at the top of the southwest tower. I had no other duties at the time.” He hastened to add these last words with a worried glance at his lord’s face.
“It is fine, William,” David said. “I was with my family and had given you leave to go. There was no reason for you not to be on the battlement.”
From David’s perspective, it was better for William to be there than in the storage closet with the latest girl he’d taken a fancy to. David needed to have a conversation with William about his responsibilities in that regard. If the girl became pregnant, William’s father would never in a million years allow him to marry her, and it would open the whole can of worms about what it meant to be illegitimate. It was okay in Wales as long as the father acknowledged the child. Not so okay in England. And the Church wouldn’t like it, of course.
William swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“So you saw them fall.” David wasn’t asking a question.
“And disappear,” William said. “I don’t understand how such a thing could happen.”
David laughed under his breath. “Neither do I, William. I only know that it did, and we must continue to act as if such a thing was meant to happen.”
“Oh, I know that.” William gazed at David intently. “Such was not my concern.”
David narrowed his eyes at his squire. “Then what?”
“It’s about the man who fell with them and died,” William said. “Who was he?”
“A mistake, clearly,” David said.
William’s lower lip jutted out a bit because he thought David was either dismissing him or not being truthful.
So David added, “Martin knew my mother from years ago. I was raised in Avalon. You know that, right?”
William nodded. “Your father sent your mother there before she gave birth to protect you.”
“Right.” David didn’t even grind his teeth at the lie he was telling. Though he’d fought it that very afternoon, he had to admit its necessity now more than ever. “When Anna and I returned here to save my father’s life, my mother was left behind. A few months before I turned sixteen, she too returned, inadvertently bringing Martin with her. He had to leave Avalon because of her.”
“Is that why you invited him to Rhuddlan? Because she felt guilty?”
It was both insightful and brave of him to ask that, and David decided not to slap him down for his impudence. The boy’s intensity was making David cautious, and he chose his words carefully. “Not guilt so much as an apology. I sought to mend the rift that event caused in our lives and in his. I had hoped Martin would visit me in London two years ago, after he aided Lord Callum in his moment of need. I wanted to thank him. As King of England, I could have granted him whatever he wished.”
“Except to return to Avalon,” William said.
Again, William’s response was more perceptive than David might have liked. He lifted one shoulder, wishing the conversation would end. But William had asked permission to speak, and David had agreed to answer his questions. He could hardly complain if they were more to the point than he expected.
“You’re right. I wasn’t going to offer him the chance to return to Avalon. Not because I didn’t think he had earned it or because I didn’t wish to, but because it isn’t in my power to grant or deny. Two years have passed since I myself left Lord Callum there, against my will and his. I would have returned if I could have, but even I do not choose the moment when I am allowed entry.”
“Only those pure of heart can enter Avalon,” William said knowingly. “That’s why Martin died. When your mother left Avalon with him, it was because she was needed here, but it seems to me that he must have been cast out at the same time.”
David gave William a sharp look, which his squire didn’t see since he had moved on to buckling David’s right bracer. “Who told you that?”
William looked up. “No one. But it seems obvious, doesn’t it?”
William had surprised David again. His thinking was clear, even if he was wrong. And it was a wrongness that David would be a fool not to exploit. “Perhaps it is I who have been cast out. That is why I have not been able to retrieve Lord Callum.”
“Oh no!” William’s face held an eager look. “It is not yet your time. Your sister and mother went to Avalon to save their lives. Isn’t that what happened to you two years ago with the storm in the Irish Sea? You would have drowned if God hadn’t held you in the palm of his hand.”
At some point, William was going to realize that David was as human as he. But the boy had been a witness to much of what had happened to David and what he’d done over the past three years, ever since William’s father had surprised David by putting William in his care to protect him. William still thought David infallible. “Thank you, William, for your faith in me. I pray I will continue to deserve it.”
“Do you think I might be worthy to travel with you to Avalon one day?”
Ieuan had asked David that once, approximately five minutes before the English had shot him and David had taken him to the modern world. David sincerely hoped William’s asking wasn’t an omen of things to come.
Before David decided how to answer him, Lili stepped through the open doorway. “Only God knows the answer to that question, William. Every day you should bring yourself to account, to ensure that if the opportunity arrives, you won’t be found wanting.”
“I will do that, my queen.” William bowed. “Thank you.”
Lili made a dismissive motion with her hand.
“I will meet you in the outer ward, William,” David said.
William shot David a bright-eyed look and bowed. “My lord.” He departed.
David shook his head at his wife. “You are incorrigible.”
“It’s a good thing I am,” she said. “Otherwise, you would have tried to rid yourself of this story a long time ago.”
“You are right. I would have.” David stepped past her to look down the corridor. Men guarded both ends, but they were too far away to overhear.
His men were wary now, and more on their guard. They—like David—had thought everyone safe at Rhuddlan. It was a bit like closing the barn door after the horse had escaped, but security had been beefed up at all the entrances and exits, and nobody came or left without being searched. That said, even the lowliest villager carried a knife at his waist and wouldn’t be asked to give it up. Marty had been where he was supposed to be, with a weapon he was supposed to have. David’s men couldn’t have been expected to read his mind.
Lili tugged David’s cloak straight around his neck and smoothed the fabric across his shoulders. “I’ve become spoiled.”
“In what way?” David was beginning to lose feeling in the fingers of his left hand because of William’s over-enthusiastic tightening of his bracer. He began to work at the buckles to loosen them.
Lili saw David trying to deal with the armor one-handed and brushed away his hand in order to do it herself. “I have grown used to you not going to war.” She tapped his chest, which was hard due to the steel-reinforced layer of Kevlar that lay underneath his armor.
“I hate to repeat what men have told their wives for thousands of years, but I will be fine,” David said.
“You don’t know that.”
David stopped her fussing by taking both her hands in his and bringing them to his chest. “If I know anything, I know that. I have increasingly come to understand that I am here for a reason. I don’t believe that reason has yet been accomplished.”
“As long as it doesn’t make you reckless,” she said.
“When have I ever been reckless?” Though perhaps David should have crossed his fingers behind his back as he said this.
She dropped his hands and gave him a quelling look. “Shall I list the times?”
David held up a hand. “Scout’s honor. I will behave. It would be stupid to die in such a little war.”
“You’d better not.” Lili went up on her toes and put her arms around his neck.
Since she was there, David kissed her. And then again. He didn’t want to leave. By rights, it was bedtime, not the moment to be riding away from Rhuddlan in pursuit of a traitor and his army.
It was Lili who pulled away. “You’d better go. Arthur is not yet ready to be king, and you don’t want me to change my mind about not coming with you to protect you.”
“You’re staying here to protect Arthur, Rhuddlan, and all the rest,” David said. “I have already promised to celebrate Christmas at Westminster Palace and I intend to keep that promise.”
Arthur had been put to bed, but David looked in on him and kissed him too. He didn’t wake, even when David stroked a lock of his blond hair out of his face. He’d already asked—in his little Arthurian sign language—to cut his hair so he could look like Cadell. David was resisting the loss of his babyhood, but it was a battle he was going to lose, if only because time was against him.
Ieuan met David as he descended the stairs into the inner ward. “Lili is well?”
“I didn’t even have to ask her to stay behind. She won’t leave Arthur, and she will help Goronwy defend Rhuddlan if need be.”
Ieuan shot David a wry look. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Bronwen is the same, not that she has the training for war.”
They reached the outer gatehouse where the men were gathering. It wasn’t quite midnight. Math had already left, riding east by torchlight. Even now, scouts were scouring the countryside on all sides, calling men in outlying areas to service and making sure Madog was as far away as they thought he was. Those few common folk who owned horses would join the cavalry, and those who didn’t would walk through the night and day tomorrow to arrive at Maentwrog when they could. Welsh armies, like all armies in this time, were composed primarily of citizen soldiery.
“You didn’t send to Chester for reinforcements,” Ieuan said.
“You noticed that?” David said.
“We have good men there,” Ieuan said.
“Do you know why I didn’t?”
“Oh, I know why, I just wanted to make sure you did.”
David raised his eyebrows. “I am Welsh first, Ieuan, and I know my history. I know the poor precedent it would set if my father welcomed English troops, even his son’s, into Wales. I ride today not as the King of England, but as a prince of Wales only.”
Ieuan nodded, and his expression told David he was not only satisfied with the answer, but he agreed with it.
“If Madog and Rhys want to start a war with everyone, then England will come to the aid of Wales as an ally,” David said. “But I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
It was odd to see Dad mount his horse without Mom at his stirrup to bid him goodbye. David took his place beside him. They would lead a contingent of one hundred cavalry out of Rhuddlan, a combined force of David’s mostly English teulu (the word meant ‘family’ in Welsh, a word heavy with meaning), which the English referred to merely as the king’s guard, and Dad’s entirely Welsh one.
Since David had arrived at Rhuddlan with his teulu, relations between the two sets of soldiers had been good. Better, in fact, than they historically would have. Prejudice against the Welsh hadn’t exactly disappeared in the few years since David had become the King of England, but victory and prosperity had gone a long way towards fostering peaceful relations between the two countries. It wasn’t only American presidents whose popularity ratings plummeted when the economy went bad.
David didn’t know how many of his men trusted Dad; he hoped the majority of Dad’s trusted him. But they all trusted Ieuan, which was the most important thing. Ieuan mounted just behind David, flanked by the captains of the two companies.
“Where do you think they are now?” Dad said by way of a greeting.
David knew without his father saying their names that he was referring to Mom and Anna, not Madog’s army.
“You were there almost as recently as I,” David said. “I don’t know where they ended up. If they’re in modern Wales, it’s a small country, and I assume their first step would be to come to Cardiff to find Callum and Cassie. If they ended up in the United States …” He shook his head.
The soldiers were forming up behind them, and the shouted orders and stamping hooves were loud enough to prevent anyone else from overhearing.
“I wish I could have visited it,” Dad said.
“It’s a big country,” David said. “From Pennsylvania to Oregon where I grew up is the same distance as from here past the Caspian Sea. Of course, if they have far to travel, they’ll be able to fly the distance.”
Dad made a rueful face. “Your mother, Goronwy, and I drove in a vehicle from Aberystwyth to Chepstow overnight. That’s eighty miles as the crow flies, almost double the distance to Harlech. How much easier it would be to put down this rebellion if we could travel more quickly.”
“I would take communicating more quickly first,” David said. “I want to talk to Evan. I want to know what is happening at Harlech.”
“At least our enemies can’t communicate any better than we can,” Dad said.
“I’ve sent the pigeons to Tudur and Clare, and the rider should have reached Bevyn by now,” David said. “At the very least, the castles we hold should be prepared for attack or treachery.”
Bevyn, who’d been posted to Anglesey since David became King of England, was the castellan of Llanfaes Castle, one of the new fortresses Dad had built in Gwynedd. In David’s old world, after Dad’s death, King Edward had destroyed the village to build his castle of Beaumaris. He had been intent on squashing the fiery independence of Anglesey and the rest of Gwynedd after Dad was killed.
In this world, rather than a means to control the populace, Llanfaes and the rebuilt Aberffraw had become centers of power and havens in times of attack on Anglesey. That had been the purpose of Harlech too. Obviously, Madog and Rhys, Dad’s wayward Welsh lords, wanted Harlech for that very reason. They couldn’t be allowed to take it, or Dad might end up burning down his own castle to get it back.
Dad’s estimation of the distance to Harlech was as the crow flies. By road, it was a bit longer: fifteen miles from Rhuddlan to Caerhun, another ten to Aber, fifteen more to Caernarfon, and then roughly thirty south to Harlech. Even pressing hard, that would be a lot of miles in a day, but that wasn’t the plan. Five miles an hour was a perfectly comfortable speed to ride and would allow the company to reach Aber well before morning. Everyone would sleep through the dawn and then leave again by noon.
If Father continued to follow his overall plan, he could reach Maentwrog, ten miles short of Harlech, and David could reach Criccieth, by early tomorrow evening. From there, each would have to decide whether to set out for Harlech immediately, or wait until another night had passed. This time of year, the sun went down around four in the afternoon, so they had only eight hours of daylight. If a man needed to see well to do his work, he needed to work fast.
The road from Aber was well-maintained, and the men around David carried torches, so nobody had to pay much attention to where they were going. Besides, horses saw better in the dark than humans.
Ieuan and Carew were speculating about what the army might face when it reached Harlech. Dad didn’t join in and remained deep in thought. David kept looking at him carefully. Finally, after they’d passed Caerhun, he interrupted Dad’s reverie.
“If you’re having second thoughts about any of this, now would be a good time to speak.”
Dad blinked and looked over at David. “I’m not having second thoughts.”
“Then what is it?”
He didn’t answer for a few seconds, and then he moved his horse closer to David’s so the words he spoke would be for his ears alone. David sensed the others fall back slightly to give them space. “What if they don’t come back?”
He meant Anna and Mom.
“Dad,” David said. “They’ll come back.”
“How can you be so certain?” he said. “Anna hasn’t been to your world since she came to this one nine years ago. And your mother had a life there. She may not have one much longer with me …” His voice trailed off.
David’s father had outlived the average medieval man by fifteen years. It shouldn’t have been surprising to learn that he was feeling his age and his own mortality, but David didn’t want to hear it or think about it.
David tried to figure out how to say what he believed to be true in a way that would make his father believe it too. “Anna’s children—and Math—are her life. Mom feels the same about her children and you. She spent fifteen years trying to get back to you. Of all the things you might be worried about right now, that should not be one of them.”
Dad was silent.
“What’s this really about?”
“I have been thinking of late how much living in this world has cost your mother, your sister, and you.” He reached out and grabbed David’s shoulder. “If something should happen to you, if you should fall in battle, it would be my fault. You could have stayed in your world and lived until you were eighty.”
David stared at him, not actually saying, what the hell? though he was thinking it. “Dad, you are not responsible for my decisions. We’re long past the point where anything I do is or is not your fault. Yes, you and Mom are my parents, but I am a twenty-three-year-old man. I make my own choices, and while they may be rooted in decisions you or Mom made, they are my own. Don’t deny me the right to own them.”
“My brother, Dafydd—” Dad paused. He really was feeling his regrets.
David picked up the thread. “Uncle Dafydd made his own choices—bad ones, mostly. I don’t believe there is anything you could have done that would have kept him at your side. You didn’t give him the land he demanded. Too bad. He tried to murder you, he betrayed you three times—”
“Four.”
“Okay, four. Whatever. He did that. He would be loving it right now if he knew you blamed yourself for his actions. Even in death, don’t give him that satisfaction.” David was pretty worked up by now, but Dad was still looking downcast. David leaned closer. “Are you ill?”
Dad sat straighter in his seat. “No. Of course not. Just tired.”
“We’ll be at Aber within the hour.” David clicked his tongue at his horse and picked up the pace slightly. He didn’t want to wear his horse out, but it was better to wear him out than Dad.
David was worried now. For all Dad’s optimism earlier about how this war could be the first shot across the bow, telling the world that they were serious about forming a united Britain, it was already looking like a lot more trouble than it was worth.