Chapter 4

 

25 August 1288

North of Buellt

 

Lili

 

Just for a moment, Lili pressed her cheek into Dafydd’s back, before she remembered that she was supposed to be keeping him at arm’s length and loosened her grip. Being with him was almost worse than not being with him, because now she had to keep herself tightly contained all the time so he wouldn’t know how she felt about him.

“I assume you have a plan,” Lili said.

“Math and I will come up with something between here and Buellt,” Dafydd said.

Lili gritted her teeth because he was keeping her out on purpose, where in the past he might have consulted her too. “Perhaps I can help?”

Dafydd tipped his chin toward a trail that led off the road just ahead of them. “I’ve a mind to split up. I don’t want all of us to trip blithely down the road to Buellt and end up dead. We aren’t going to walk innocently into whatever trap they’ve set for us.” He paused. “What do you think they’ll do? You know Gethin better than I.”

“I don’t like Gethin,” Lili said, “so that colors my judgment, but I think they’ll risk leaving the castle and choosing their ground, rather than waiting for you to come to them. If I were Gethin, I’d suggest to the English commander that he set an ambush for you. That way, they keep the castle no matter what happens, and if you have the greater numbers, they can even the odds by surprising you.”

“You think they’ll go for open war? Really?”

“Once you get inside the castle, were they to admit your teulu, they run a real risk of your force overcoming theirs. They have thirty-some men. You have fifty. It isn’t great odds, especially if your men are even slightly wary.”

“Why should we be wary?” Dafydd said. “Gethin surely will try hard to make everything look perfect for me.”

“Except for one thing, Dafydd,” Lili said. “Me. I won’t be there to greet you. All things being equal, that has to worry Gethin. And given that I’m not in evidence, Gethin will wonder where I’ve gone. Even if he decides my absence isn’t important, it will niggle at the back of his mind. He will wonder if I’ve done exactly as I have done, and brought you warning of the danger.”

“I see the problem,” Dafydd said. “He’s making a mistake if he dismisses you because you’re a woman.”

Lili felt a warmth in her stomach at the pride in Dafydd’s voice. She swallowed it away. “For them to come out after you doesn’t even the odds, but as Math said, even if you escape their clutches, they can simply drop the portcullis and keep you out of Buellt. The English captain will accept the risk of losing men, if it means he keeps the castle.”

Dafydd shook his head. “They’re taking a risk, either way.”

“I think you are too big a prize to forgo the chance,” Lili said. “Edmund Mortimer would want them to chance it.”

Dafydd stared straight ahead as he thought. “You’re probably right.” His men had formed up on the road behind them and now Dafydd waved Math forward. “Lili and I have talked further. She thinks the English will prepare an ambush.”

Math eyed Lili, and she gazed back at him, struggling to contain the flush of red that threatened to suffuse her face. He would know all about her refusal of Dafydd’s entreaties. There was no question that Math blamed her for Dafydd’s unhappiness, if he was unhappy.

Which, now that she thought about it, he showed no signs of being. In fact, he acted as if they’d never had a relationship at all beyond friendship. Lili suppressed a sigh as the realization hit her: Dafydd was no longer in love with her. Here she had pined for him (as Ieuan said), spent many a sleepless night wallowing in guilt, and he was nonchalant.

Lili gritted her teeth. She needed to behave the same as he, even if it meant swallowing down her feelings until she choked on them.

“Where would they set up?” Math said.

“Ieuan would know better than I,” Lili said, “but I’ve just come that way. The English will assume, as I did, that you’d ride down this road, won’t they?”

“How else?” Math said. “This is the quickest way, and our company would be moving fast, unsuspecting of danger. Or so the English would hope.”

“The road narrows between two hills about a mile and a half to the north of the Wye River,” Lili said. “Both sides of the road are tree-covered as well.”

“I know the place,” Math said.

Dafydd grunted. “So do I. My father and I spent many days surveying the roads around Buellt Castle. He almost died here, you know. He has made a study of good ambush sites—here and everywhere he travels when he has the time—and has used them himself with great effectiveness.”

“Your father is a brilliant tactician, my lord,” Math said.

Lili caught the look Dafydd shot his brother-in-law, and despite her earlier assumptions about his state of mind, there was no mistaking what his expression said—something like, I don’t want to hear it. At the same time, Math left unspoken what was plain on his face, namely, I’m not going to deny what is the truth or maybe when are you going to work things out with your father?

“I know,” was all Dafydd said.

And what did Dafydd and Llywelyn have to work out, but her? Lili hated that. She hated that she’d been the cause of discord between Dafydd and Llywelyn, which is why she’d sent Dafydd away in the first place. It didn’t seem to have changed things, however. If anything, they appeared worse. Maybe Dafydd blamed his father for Lili’s actions, rather than Lili herself.

“We should split up as you suggested,” Math said. “But do it now.”

“I will lead fifteen men down the main road to Buellt,” Dafydd said, “which seems to me the smallest number of riders that the English might expect to accompany me. The rest of you take to the fields and woods on either side of the road. Don’t get too far from me because I need to hear your horn if you come upon the English unexpectedly.”

“It’s putting you at unnecessary risk,” Math said.

“Is it?” Dafydd said. “I don’t think so. We have to sell them on the idea that we are unprepared and unwarned.” A sheepish look crossed his face. “It would be better to find them before they attack us.”

“And Lili?” Math said.

“I can fight,” Lili said.

Dafydd pursed his lips, and Lili thought that he was going to deny her request, but then he nodded. “We’ll find you some high ground.” And then he grinned. “You can shoot anyone who gets close to me.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lili said.

The company did as Dafydd suggested, moving within half a mile of the spot that Lili had indicated. Owain took one group into the fields to the east, circling around a great tumulus that rose up beside the road, and Math directed his men to the west, probing ever further forward.

Dafydd took the remaining men, with Lili still behind him, at a walk, straight down the road. He didn’t speak, and Lili didn’t interrupt his concentration. What might be coming at them had all of his men on edge. One of the younger soldiers in his company, who looked no older than Lili, appeared close to puking.

William, Bohun’s son, rode at Dafydd’s right flank. Lili glanced at him, and he caught her eye. Though Dafydd didn’t look around and see their exchange, he seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. “If anything happens, William, you can break for the trees,” he said. “At the very least, ride back the way we came.”

“I am not worried, my lord,” William said.

“I am,” Dafydd said. “None of this feels right.”

They reached the possible ambush site with no sign of the English—or Math and Owain, for that matter. Then a scout galloped up the road towards them and reined his horse in front of Dafydd. “Nothing, my lord,” the man said. “We’ve been all through the area, almost to the ford of the Wye.”

Dafydd pulled up too and waited. They were only a mile from Buellt Castle now. Finally, the rest of his company returned. Math shook his head, agreeing with the scout’s initial report. “Nothing.”

“I guess I was wrong,” Lili said. “I’ve wasted most of the day for you. You could have been halfway to Brecon by now.”

Dafydd’s face had fallen into grim lines. “We’ll see. I don’t like that you were wrong because what you said felt right to me.” He jerked his chin at Math. “Something still isn’t okay about this.”

“We saw no one, Dafydd,” Math said.

“Not where we thought they might set up, but what about at the ford? It’s close to the castle. They can’t see us yet, but once we crest that rise—” Dafydd gestured to a spot a quarter of a mile ahead of them, “—we’ll be within sight of Buellt’s towers. Take your men off the road, back the way you came, but ride all the way to the river this time. A path parallels it. Take it east. We’ll meet on the north bank, just before we cross the ford. I’ll give you a short head start.”

Math bowed, not questioning Dafydd’s decision, gathered his men, and departed. Dafydd pulled out his water skin and drank long from it, before passing it to Lili. “Drink the rest. If it comes to a fight, you won’t be sorry you did.”

Lili drank it as he asked, feeling as she did so that she was out of her depth. If no English waited at the ford, would Dafydd try to take the castle back? Lili thought of her brother’s men who’d made up the Welsh garrison—good men, many of them—and felt sick to her stomach. How many were dead on Gethin’s orders?

Dafydd got his men moving again, in good order but riding fast. Lili held onto him tightly as the wooded hills flashed by. Dafydd’s hand went to hers one more time. “A moving horse is harder to hit than a walking one,” was all he said, “and I still don’t feel right about this.”

They rode around another hill that loomed on their left, only half a mile from the ford, and galloped through a flatter, grassy area that led down to the river. Sunlight played on the bright water, which splashed over the smooth stones of the ford.

Lili sensed movement ahead of them before her eyes really knew what they were seeing. Her heart caught in her throat, but it was only Math’s company riding among the trees. They raced east along the path beside the river, and then turned north to meet the rest of Dafydd’s teulu which was by now only fifty yards from the ford. Just as the hooves of Math’s horse hit the road, Dafydd threw out a hand and reined in. Cadfarch danced sideways, his men bunched up behind him—and the ditches and trees on both sides of the road exploded with English soldiers.

“I knew it!” Dafydd pointed his sword at the sky as a signal to his men, and urged Cadfarch forward. Four English soldiers, their cloaks and helms decorated with tufts of grass and twigs, which they’d used to hide their presence, had timed their attack exactly wrong. The horse plowed through them. Dafydd’s sword rose and fell while Lili, her cheek pressed to Dafydd’s back, shrunk down as much as possible so as not to hinder him with a distracting movement.

“Charge!”

More Englishmen on horseback burst from the trees to their left. Dafydd didn’t hesitate—or at least Cadfarch didn’t, swinging wide to the right and barreling through another three Englishmen who were attempting to fight on foot. The horse leapt off the road and into the trees, chasing down a fourth man who’d turned to run away.

Lili forced her eyes to open wide instead of squeezing them shut as was her impulse. She held her knife in her left hand, prepared to protect their left side if need be. She peeked from under Dafydd’s arm to see Math direct his men toward the English cavalry who had circled through a field to the west and were now coming at them from the north.

Neither group had the advantage of higher ground, but Math’s men had more momentum—and numbers—on their side. They crashed into the English line with devastating effect, though men and horses on both sides went down. Dafydd gripped his bloody sword in his right hand and held the reins in his left. His shield hung uselessly from a strap near her left leg.

Dafydd curved back to the road, by now only ten yards from the ford, and swung Cadfarch around to face north. Half a dozen of his men had come with him, but an equal number had been unhorsed, and the road in front of them was strewn with the dead and dying. Lili had seen a battle when they’d taken Painscastle, but hadn’t known what it was like from the back of a horse. She’d never felt the fear of holding onto the man she loved while he fought, praying that he wouldn’t be struck down with her arms around him.

“It should never have come to this!” Dafydd’s words carried above the sound of the river behind them. He urged Cadfarch back towards the center of the road, driving towards a soldier who held a Welsh man-at-arms on the ground and was about to thrust a sword through his belly. Dafydd swung his sword and decapitated the man.

In the half a heartbeat it took for the man to die, a spray of blood coated Dafydd, the horse, and Lili. Even as it arced in the air towards her, Lili shrieked and tried to cover her eyes.

“Sorry.”

That one word from Dafydd left Lili gasping. It was so matter-of-fact and yet told her that he wished she hadn’t seen that; he wished he hadn’t had to kill the man right in front of her.

Lili didn’t say, “it’s okay,” though the words were on the tip of her tongue. They would be a lie, however, and she was done lying to Dafydd, even about this. Instead, she clutched her arms more tightly about his waist and pressed her forehead into his back. The rough wool of his cloak, over the hard metal of his mail armor, scraped at her skin. It felt good to feel something besides her inward horror.

Dafydd cleared his throat. “It’s over.”

Lili still didn’t want to look. Dafydd changed direction and trotted Cadfarch to the edge of the road, to where Math knelt, holding the hand of a fallen soldier. It was Owain, Dafydd’s captain, wounded to death. Lili tasted ash, and she swallowed hard for the hundredth time, trying not to completely fall apart in a storm of tears.

“Let me down, Dafydd,” Lili said.

He gave her his elbow to hold onto. He held still, solid as a rock, as she slid off Cadfarch, and then Dafydd dismounted too. He crouched beside Owain and took his hand.

“My lord.” A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. “I failed—”

“Shh,” Dafydd said. “All is well. You did not fail—neither me nor yourself.”

“The English—”

“Are defeated,” Dafydd said.

Owain closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell once, and then not again.

Dafydd gazed down at Owain for a count of ten and then got to his feet. He turned to Math. “Where’s William?”

Math pointed with his chin towards the river. “I left him in a tree near the water.”

“I’ll see to him,” Lili said, glad for something—anything—to do other than look at the dead men on the ground.

Only a few hours earlier, she’d forded the Wye River by herself and walked north along this very road. A lifetime ago. Lili brushed back the tears that had formed in her eyes at Owain’s death. She hadn’t even known the man, but that death should come to any of them … Lili spun on one heel, wanting to run away, wanting to be anywhere but where she was.

Instead, she ran to the tree Math had indicated. William, however, wasn’t in it. He leaned against the trunk on the far side, looking away from the battle towards Buellt, though the trees along both banks screened him from the castle’s towers. His face was very white, and he stared straight ahead, unseeing. A dead man lay on the ground at his feet.

Lili halted beside him. He was an inch taller than she, and about the same weight. Just a twelve-year-old boy—with a bloody sword in his hand. Lili reached out and pried his fingers from the hilt. “This is your doing?”

“Yes.” William’s voice held neither anguish nor pride. It was cold and matter-of-fact. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Where did you get the sword?”

“My father gave it to me before we came to Wales. He said if I was to be any kind of squire to the Prince of Wales, I’d better act the part.”

Lili thought he was awfully young for a sword, and to be in battle, but she’d heard the same about herself three years ago (more because she was a girl, of course, than because she was only fifteen).

“I stayed in the tree for most of it, but then one of the English riders left the field, fleeing towards me. I-I-I dropped out of the tree right onto him. He hit the ground and …” William gestured at the body. “I killed him.”

“He would have warned the garrison at Buellt of what had happened,” Lili said. “You did Prince Dafydd a great service.”

Dafydd came up behind Lili. She felt him hover behind her, hesitating, and then both hands dropped onto her shoulders. He squeezed once and then moved towards William, who was bent at the waist, staring at the ground.

“Let it out, if it’s going to come out,” Dafydd said. “There’s a first time for everyone.”

William didn’t vomit, though, but breathed in deeply through his nose. He straightened and leaned back against the tree. “I don’t need to be sick. I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” Dafydd’s lips actually quirked. “See if you can make yourself useful among the wounded. We’re not done. We must take Buellt Castle back from the traitors who hold it.”

William nodded. He held out his hand for his sword, and when Lili gave it to him, he walked stiff-legged back towards the road and the rest of the men. Lili turned to watch him go, and then found Dafydd’s arms slipping around her waist.

Lili couldn’t make herself protest aloud or even pull away. She wanted to hold herself stiff. She tried to, but she found herself, leaning into him. She was so tired all of a sudden, it was an effort to keep her knees from sagging and making him bear all her weight. She hadn’t done anything but ride pillion behind Dafydd. That any of these men remained upright—or could speak in a level tone without crying—was incredible to Lili.

Yet she forced herself to copy them, to not give in to her grief either. They had more work to do today. Behind her, Dafydd sighed. She felt his lips brush her hair, and then he released her. “We must move.”

Lili fell into step beside him, and they headed to where Math had gathered the surviving men.

“What are you going to do now?” Lili said.

“They came at us with thirty men,” Math said. “Mortimer’s men, though a few may have been from Buellt’s garrison.”

“Edmund Mortimer wants Buellt back,” Lili said.

“Obviously,” Dafydd said. And then touched her hand—just with one finger—but it eased the sting of his sarcasm, telling Lili that it wasn’t directed at her. “Mortimer has taken the field in earnest.”

“Here, he has, certainly,” Lili said. “But what of Bigod, Kirby, or Vere?”

Dafydd shook his head. “I wouldn’t have expected those three to league with Mortimer. They’re not natural conspirators.”

“Why not?” Lili stopped beside William, who was carefully cleaning the blood from his sword with the edge of a dead Englishman’s cloak.

“Because the use of a sword has never come naturally to Edmund Mortimer,” Dafydd said. “As a second son, he was meant for the Church and was advancing through the ranks. He’s an Oxford scholar. Unlike his older and younger brothers, he’s had to fight for the respect of the other barons, more than he’s had to fight actual battles.”

“King Edward, before he died, had delayed confirming him in his holdings because of it,” William said. And then blinked. “I apologize, my lord, for interrupting.”

“Apology accepted,” Dafydd said, “though it is unnecessary. You are correct in your assessment.” Dafydd dropped a hand onto William’s shoulder. “Your father has taught you well. He would be proud of you.”