Chapter Seven
David and Math came through the castle gateway and Mom dashed across the courtyard to greet him.
“We’ve been so worried.” Mom threw her arms around David’s waist the moment he dismounted.
“Sorry, Mom. I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been.”
“What are you going to tell your father?” she said.
“I’ll tell him I wasn’t careful. He knows that our downfall has always been trusting those who aren’t trustworthy. We’ve never been defeated by the English except when a Welshman opens the door and lets them in.”
David looked up at Anna.
She took the last step down and into his arms. “Are we ever going to be safe?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
Anna didn’t want David to be right, so instead of stewing about it, she took him inside to bathe and change and eat until he couldn’t eat anymore. It was pretty wonderful for her to have him in her ‘house’, to be the lady of the manor, to welcome his companions as heroes, which pleased Huw to no end, and to sit beside Math in the hall, with everyone she loved around her.
It was only later that David described his capture in private to Math, Mom, and Anna. Eventually the story would get out, but Anna didn’t want everyone to know it all until Bevyn arrived.
“This isn’t an easy thing to hear,” Math commented as he sprawled in his chair beside Anna. “If I could never walk alone, I’d go mad.”
“That’s the problem,” David agreed. “We’re vulnerable to betrayal by one we thought a friend.”
“The alternative is to have no friends,” Anna said.
“Not exactly a solution,” David said. “Neither practical, nor possible, and even if it were, what kind of life would I live then?”
As the sun faded from the castle walls, the guard shouted that Bevyn and his men were coming. They’d gathered in the valley before making their somber way up the hill. David and Anna climbed the battlements to watch them ride in.
“Bevyn submitted his resignation to Mom, and now he’ll submit it to me,” David said. “What do I say to him?”
“As you told me once, the stakes are always too high here, David,” Anna said. “The sad truth is that Bevyn didn’t foresee danger coming from your own company. He did fail to protect you.”
“So I should hang him?”
“Of course not,” Anna said. “What does our sensei always say? We learn more from failure than success.”
“He’ll learn from this,” David said. As his men approached, David walked down the steps and through the gatehouse, to stand alone to wait for them.
They certainly were a disheartened group. They didn’t even notice him until one of the men beside Bevyn signaled him to look up. Anna was looking forward to seeing Bevyn’s expression when the belief that it was truly David won out over his disbelief that it could be.
There it was.
“Dafydd!” Bevyn roared and spurred his horse forward.
His men cheered another “Dafydd!” in Bevyn’s wake, and traveled the hundred yards between them in ten seconds. The wave of men crested and passed around him until they encircled him. Bevyn leaped off his horse and wrapped his arm around David’s neck.
“Young pup! Young pup!” he shouted, hammering him on the back.
There was laughter all around, and David greeted each man with a handshake and thanks for diligence in their search. He worked his way through the crowd until he faced Bevyn again. As they looked at each other, silence fell, and slowly Bevyn settled on one knee.
The silence was so complete, Bevyn’s words might have carried all the way down to the village. “My life is yours, my lord,” he said. “I failed you.”
“Justice and mercy, Bevyn,” David said, “justice and mercy.” And then, “Look at me.”
Bevyn raised his head; tears leaked from his eyes.
“You failed me less than you failed yourself. Am I to believe that you would allow such a thing to happen again?”
“Of course not, my lord!”
“I will trust you to see that it doesn’t. Stand up, man. The sun sets and I’m hungry again. I would hear your story, and tell you mine.”
* * * * *
Mom and Anna sat together in Math’s office as Mom wrote to Papa of what had happened to David. It was almost like a poem, the way she wrote it, and Anna longed for the freedom to write what she wanted—a journal, a story, even a letter that didn’t have to be carefully crafted—as every scrap of parchment was so precious that it needed to be scraped and reused, treasured until it literally fell apart in her hands. David came to find them before he went to bed, and when he asked to read it, Mom hunched over the letter, at first not wanting him to see it.
She and Anna shared a look, a silent communication in which they told each other how far they’d all come in adapting to the world in which they found themselves; then she nodded and relinquished it. “You should know the truth, David,” Mom said. “You of all people need to see it.”
David took the paper and read. Anna watched his face. She and Mom had suffered in his absence, Mom sobbing in Anna’s arms at David’s loss. It wasn’t something they could have gotten used to, not ever.
...Your son came to Dinas Bran today. A host of his people accompanied him. They seem to follow him wherever he goes now. I find that I barely recognize the boy I once knew. I see glimpses of the child, but the man who inhabits his body is someone who bears more resemblance to you than me. Do not think I regret this, Llywelyn, for if he is to become a man, I can think of none better for him to emulate. But the boy is gone, sooner than I would have thought or wished ...
When he’d finished, David put down the paper and looked at his mother. “Father is going to freak.”
“Again,” Anna said.
* * * * *
Aaron surprised Anna in her quarters the next day. He hovered in the doorway of her solar, uncertain. Mom had gone off somewhere and Anna was laboring over a christening dress. She wouldn’t have been sewing at all, but apparently the dress was one of those things that she had to do herself or people would talk. As Anna was different enough as it was, she made a conscious effort not to call unfavorable attention to herself.
“My lady,” Aaron said.
It was the first time Anna had spoken with him since David came home. “What is it, Aaron? Do we have a patient?”
“Not today, my lady. I need to speak to Prince David, but—” He paused. “Is your mother near?”
“Not at the moment,” Anna said. “Perhaps I can help?”
Aaron bowed his head. “I have something to discuss with Prince David.” He hesitated again. “If you could come with me to his rooms, be with me when I talk to him, I would be grateful.”
Delighted to put the needlework aside, Anna escorted him to David’s room and poked in her head. “Can we talk?”
David looked up. He was bent over a small table, dictating a letter to a scribe. Handwriting was an art form in the Middle Ages, and as Anna had anticipated, everyone who saw David’s had long since deemed it illegible. “Sure,” he said, straightening. “Gentlemen.”
Bevyn sat in a chair he’d tipped back against the wall, picking at his fingernails with his belt knife. Hywel polished David’s armor in one corner. Neither showed any interest in leaving the room. Anna understood completely. Everyone repeatedly reassured themselves that David was back in one piece. Anna had caught Mom hovering outside David’s door the previous night. “We almost lost him,” she’d whispered.
“Please.” David tried again.
“Yes, my lord,” Bevyn said. “I’ll bring a meal when you’re finished.”
“Thank you, Bevyn.” David turned his attention to Aaron who stood in the middle of the floor, shifting from one foot to the other. “What is it?”
With a hand on her belly, Anna settled onto a cushioned chair in the corner and prepared to keep quiet. It was a technique she’d developed in dealing with Math’s affairs. If she sat still—the quiet wife—men rarely noticed her presence, but afterwards Math and she would be able to talk as partners about whatever the men had discussed.
“I’ve kept something from you, my lord,” Aaron said. “I accept that telling you of this now might mean my death, but I can no longer withhold this information.”
David looked pained. “Don’t even say that, Aaron,” he said. “Why do my friends keep insisting that I kill them?”
“Just wait, my lord,” Aaron said. He took in a deep breath. “It concerns my son, Samuel.”
“You mentioned him once,” David said.
“I speak rarely of him because he responded to the deaths of his mother and sister by turning from me, and from God. Samuel ran away four years ago and I’ve had no contact with him since he left.” Aaron glanced out of the corner of his eye at Anna. She nodded back, encouragingly.
“I’m sorry,” David said.
Aaron swallowed. “What I’ve kept from you is that a month ago a traveler brought me a letter from Samuel. It informed me that you had a traitor in your midst, that one of your men had made inquiries regarding payment for your capture”
Anna stared at Aaron, shocked.
“And you didn’t think to tell me this before?” David said.
Aaron held out both hands to David in supplication. “I didn’t open the letter until after your capture,” he said. “It was seeing your mother’s fear that prompted me to soften my heart towards Samuel enough to read what he’d written.”
Aaron’s face had gone gray, and suddenly he looked very old. David noticed too. He pointed to a chair and Aaron sat. “Rest a moment, and then tell me more.”
“I cannot explain to you what it means to be Jewish,” Aaron said. “We’ve lived a life apart for centuries, no matter what country took us in. My son never liked that; never wanted it. He fought me and his mother from the time he was five years of age and old enough to run free with the other boys of the town in which we lived. He never followed our teachings well, or any teachings, for that matter.
“Every time King Edward handed down new restrictions against us, he chafed at them more strongly than other members of our community. When his mother died, just after he turned sixteen, he took his rebellion further. Because he was broadly built, with fair skin and hair, he was able to ‘pass’ as a gentile and so took the path that had always appealed to him. He became a soldier, lying about his ancestry of course in order to do so. While I disowned him, my brother arranged a position for him among the Earl of Lancaster’s men.
“However, he is still Jewish. He is circumcised, so any gentile seeing him in a state of undress would know his antecedents. This is a constant source of danger to him and makes him wary of everyone.
“Now that he has lived in the world, among those who would revile him if they knew his history, he has seen fear, hatred, and brutality among the gentiles. A soldier’s life has shown him what he would not learn from me. In his letter, he apologizes for leaving me and asks my forgiveness. I’m sorry I was not able to find it in my heart to forgive him earlier.”
Aaron fell silent, studying the floor.
“We’re sorry for your troubles,” Anna said. “But is there more?” She moved to the bench next to Aaron and rested a hand on his arm.
“Is that not enough? But yes, there’s more.”
“Wait a minute.” David walked to the door and poked his head into the hallway.
“Yes, my lord?” Bevyn was at the door immediately.
“Ask my mother to come here, if she will,” he said. “I need to speak with her.”
“Thank you,” Aaron said. “Your mother will be most helpful.”
“More so than you think,” David said.
A few minutes later, Bevyn held the door open for Mom.
“What is it?” She settled herself in a chair near the desk and looked around at the companions in the room.
“Aaron was just telling us that his son has written him with news of a traitor in our midst,” Anna said.
“What?” Mom started up from her seat. “Another one besides Marchudd?”
“No, no.” David put out a hand to stay her. “But Aaron didn’t open his son’s letter until after Marchudd captured me.”
Aaron turned to Mom, regret in his voice. “I told you of my brother, Jacob, while we were at sea. He and his son, Moses, are physicians for King Edward’s brother, Edmund, the Earl of Lancaster. My son, Samuel, who is one of Lancaster’s men, wrote to me to warn me of this traitor, knowing that I had found safe haven in Wales.
“Samuel also tells me that there is a rumor that King Edward is preparing for a new pogrom against the Jews. He doesn’t know exactly what it is, but the priests in their sermons are inciting hatred at every mass, and he feels there is little time before Edward hands down a new edict. Edward may already have done so.”
Mom steepled her hands together and tapped her lips with her fingers.
“It’s very difficult to know what to say to this, Aaron,” Mom said. “I believe you, but I’m not certain as to what we can do about it.”
“Does Samuel expect something specific from us? Or perhaps from me?” David said.
“Hope, I think,” Aaron said. “There is something special about you, my lord, that everyone can see. In both England and Wales, people tell tales of your exploits and deeds. This, combined with your treatment of me, have made you a hero to my son. In truth, I have also come to expect a great deal from you. You and your mother are both wise beyond all expectation. You give my son and me hope for the future.”
Anna had been looking into the fire as Aaron spoke, distracted by thoughts his words had prompted, and almost missed Mom’s next sentence.
“... time we tell him the truth?” she said.
“What?” Anna said.
“What truth?” Aaron said.
“I have wanted to tell Aaron from the first time I met him,” Mom said. “He needs to make some decisions about his family and his future, and if we are to help him, he deserves the truth.”
“Will he believe us, if we tell him?” Anna said.
“Believe what?” Aaron said.
The three of them shared a long look, and then David took the plunge. “Believe that the country from which we come exists.”
Mom nodded. “Aaron,” she said. “We’ve traveled here from the future. I lived with Prince Llywelyn seventeen years ago and conceived David. I told you the truth about that. I then returned to my time for David’s childhood. We are back here again, though how or why we neither know nor understand.”
Aaron stared at her.
“Thank you for not immediately accusing us of witchcraft!” she said. “I could take anything but that.”
Aaron collected himself. “I don’t believe in witches,” he said, “but I know of no science or religion that can explain what you’ve just told me.”
“Neither do we, unfortunately,” Anna said. “Believe me, we would gladly hear any logical explanation, but we can’t explain what’s happened to us. Our superior knowledge doesn’t help us in this.”
“And ... when exactly is your time?” Aaron kept his eyes on David’s.
“I was born in November, one thousand, nine hundred and ninety-six years after the birth of Christ,” David said.
Aaron put his hand to his head, twisting in his seat. “1996.”
David gave him time to recover. Aaron sat, his face in his hands. Finally, he looked up. “Somehow, I believe you. I am beyond surprised, yet not surprised at all.” He paused again. “You have seen many wonders?”
He was looking for some kind of confirmation. Mom took up the challenge. “We have vehicles that fly through the air,” she said, “and others that travel along the ground, some at hundreds of miles an hour; we have sent men to the moon, and they have sent back pictures of earth, which shows it as an orb, floating in space. In our time, the earth is home to nearly seven billion souls. Our country, the United States of America, exists on a continent that most of Europe has yet to discover. It’s a democracy, ruled by a parliament elected by all people in the country, regardless of race, religion, class, or gender. In our country, women have the right to vote in elections, all children must attend school, and I went to a university and studied for many years to receive my doctorate in history.”
“It’s because of history that we’re telling you this now,” David said. “In our world, my father was killed at Cilmeri in 1282, and Wales, as a country, ceased to exist.”
“In our world,” Mom joined in, “in five years, Edward expels the Jewish community from England.”
Aaron stared at her, then let out a long breath. “Of everything you’ve just told me,” he said, “it is this last that forces me to believe you. It’s such a small number of people, to be perceived as doing such harm.” He paused. “I have so many questions I don’t know where to begin, except ... There’s a reason you’re telling me this now?”
“Your people may have very little time, as your son perceived. You may begin to spread the word among your people that they are welcome in Wales,” David said.
“Prince Llywelyn agrees to this?” Aaron said.
David and Mom exchanged looks. “We’ve discussed it,” Mom hedged. “He’s not opposed to the idea.”
“It’s something we need to explore with him further,” David said. “But in the meantime, Wales can provide a safe haven for those who are able to venture here now. Father said he wouldn’t object to that.”
“Thank you,” Aaron said. He stood to leave, but then stopped and sat down again. “My son also writes that on the first of June, the Earl of Lancaster travels to Chester for a meeting with King Edward and the other Marcher lords. Samuel, Jacob, and Moses will travel with him. With your permission, I will meet them, as long as Anna remains well. I don’t trust this information to a letter that might never arrive.”
David nodded. “I’ll send word of this meeting to my father. He needs to know of it.”
* * * * *
On the twenty-eighth of May, only a day before Aaron intended to leave for Chester, a guard on the wall shouted that a rider—a foreign rider—requested permission to enter. Math and Anna went to find out who it was. The man dismounted and bowed deeply.
“I am Abraham ben Moses,” he said. “I’m looking for my uncle, Aaron ben Simon, whom I’ve heard is within.”
“He is,” Math said. “I suppose we’ve been expecting you.”
The man raised his eyebrows, but didn’t ask questions, just allowed Anna to lead him into the hall.
“Are you okay with this?” Anna asked Math (‘okay’ was one of the words she couldn’t seem to stop using; apparently she said it often enough that other members of the castle had adopted it too).
Math nodded. “I can’t predict the future like you can. But I can see my way clear on this.”
“Abraham!” Aaron entered the hall from a rear doorway, David a pace or two behind. In three long strides, Aaron reached Abraham and embraced him. They patted each other on the back, and then stepped away, smiling, though Abraham’s smile quickly faded.
“We are here to impose upon your hospitality, Uncle, and that of your lord, if he will have us.” Abraham looked past Aaron to David. “The King of England has barred us from London. The Jewish community has fifteen days to leave the city, ten of which have already passed.”
“They will lose everything,” Aaron breathed. “On such short notice, no one will get a fair price for any of their possessions.”
“If such a thing was ever possible.” Abraham shook his head. “The edict caught us unawares.”
“What is your profession?” David said.
“I am a wool merchant,” Abraham said, “though in recent years I’ve worked in the shop of a gentile—ill-paid and ill-respected—except for the money I brought in.”
“I’m sorry for your troubles,” David said. “But if you have contacts in Europe with whom you do business, you may settle in the village and practice your trade from here. There will be no undue taxes or restrictions on your behavior or your movement.”
Abraham stared at him. “Truly?”
“We will restrict usury among your bankers to a maximum of five percent interest,” David said. “While they may not feel that is worth their efforts, over the long term, they could earn a living if that profession is their choice. Otherwise, we ask that you accept our hospitality as it is offered: from one free people to another.”
Abraham shook his head, opening and closing his mouth but unable to speak. Aaron patted him on the shoulder. “He’s the Prince of Wales,” Aaron said. “Best take him at his word.”
“Sire.” Abraham finally managed to speak. “Thank you.” He allowed Aaron to lead him to a table and settle him on a bench, an expression of wonder still on his face.
“What is Father going to say?” Anna said.
“He’s not here, but it’s the right thing to do.” David glanced at the two men who were too far away to hear him. “But you’re right that I probably should discuss it with Father before we get too far down this road.”
“I’d have to agree,” Math said. “If not for the incident with Marchudd, you’d have gone to him already.”
“Then I guess there’s no time like the present,” David said. His eyes lit and he spun on his heel. “Bevyn!” he bellowed, and disappeared through the front door to the hall.
Anna shared a glance with Math. “My lord,” she said. “I think we’ve work to do too.”
He smiled at Anna’s uncharacteristic use of his title and reached for her hand. “Abraham?” he said, and gestured towards the door. “I’d like to meet your people.”
They rode to the village of Llangollen. Aaron came too because the villagers knew of his work in healing by now, and most had learned to trust him. But his presence was hardly needed. By the time they arrived, Abraham’s sons were playing with three of the village boys and one of the women had invited his wife into her home to rest. They’d probably already learned their first words of Welsh.
“One family is not a threat,” Math said. “If a dozen were to arrive at once, that might be a different story.”
“There may be more than a dozen, in the end,” Anna said.
“We will leave tomorrow’s troubles for tomorrow.”
Within another hour, Abraham had moved his family into a hut that had belonged to the head man’s mother who’d died the previous winter.
“We’ll leave you in good hands,” Math said.
“I think they’re a bit overwhelmed by the unexpected hospitality and the foreignness of their circumstances,” Anna said to David when she found him later. “As city people, they know nothing of country life, nothing of Wales.”
David shrugged. “Like all of us, they’ll just have to learn.”