Chapter 5

 

25 August 1288

North of Buellt

 

Math

 

“What do we do with the dead?” Math toed the body of the closest Englishman and then glanced at his brother-in-law, who stared down at another body, his hands on his hips.

“Strip the bodies of the dead Englishmen and move them off the road,” Dafydd said. “Put the armor, weapons, and other gear in a pile so we can sort through it. Send others to gather the horses, all that we can find.”

“And our dead?” Lili said.

Dafydd sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He’d tossed his helmet near where he’d picketed Cadfarch; like Math, he wore it only when he had to. “We’ll bury them as best we can. It’s the wounded that concern me most.”

“We’ve been doing our best, Gruffydd and I.” Lili stood and stretched, and then waved a hand to indicate a man on the other side of the road, a member of Dafydd’s guard whom the Jewish doctor, Aaron, had trained. William still knelt next to the man Lili had been treating, holding his hand. She’d bandaged the soldier’s leg from ankle to knee.

Math observed her out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help but notice that after they’d pushed through their initial hesitancy, she and Dafydd had stopped circling around each other. He didn’t know if they’d come to a true accord during their ride, or an unspoken one. He hoped that the days of silence might finally be over. It had been a hard two months for Dafydd—and almost as hard on those he loved, who’d had to put up with his moods and his startlingly grim sense of humor.

When Math and Anna had been courting, Anna had never sent him away like Lili had Dafydd, but she’d held him at arm’s length for a long while. It had taken months of patient work on his part to get Anna to talk to him about anything important. Fortunately, it had taken far less long for her to admit that she loved him.

“Now that the English numbers are reduced,” Math said, “do we have a plan for taking the castle?”

“I never liked the place,” Lili said. “No matter how long I stay there, it could never be home. We could let them keep it.”

Dafydd smirked. “Uh … I don’t think my father would take kindly to that notion. No.” He shook his head. “We have to go in and get it.”

“What about gathering reinforcements first?” Lili said. “Our numbers are reduced.”

Math took in a breath and let it out. When the fight began, they’d outnumbered their English attackers. Subsequently, they’d lost fewer than a dozen men; fewer than they might have if Dafydd had been less wary. Math told himself to remember this day the next time he felt a sick pit in his stomach for no clear reason. He’d gone along with Dafydd’s orders willingly enough, since he’d grown to trust his brother-in-law, but Dafydd’s fears had been premonition only. Without Dafydd’s prescience, this could have been much worse.

“We continue to have the advantage.” Dafydd gestured with one hand to the dead in the road. “Even if it might not seem like it.”

“In numbers, surely,” Math said. “If Lili’s estimation is correct, the English used up most of their strength in this ambush. But we will be riding into a second trap if we go into Buellt.”

“A trap of our making, not theirs,” Dafydd said.

“How so?” Math said, and then his breath caught because he knew what Dafydd was thinking, and it shook him. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You mean to deceive the garrison? You mean to ride into Buellt Castle as Englishmen?”

“Victorious Englishmen at that.” Dafydd’s blue eyes lit with an unexpected amusement. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Math pursed his lips. “I’ve not heard that phrase before.”

Dafydd shrugged. “Some English guy said it, a couple of hundred years from now. I don’t know that I always agree with his sentiment, especially about the love part. But war—”

Math found himself nodding. “War is something different. We Welsh, for all our disloyalty and fighting among ourselves, haven’t been as ruthless as we’ve needed to be. We haven’t fought the Normans with every tool at our disposal or we would have done better against them sooner.”

“I don’t understand what you’re proposing,” Lili said.

Dafydd looked down at her. “We ride into Buellt dressed as the English who attacked us, except for me.”

“Why except for you?” Lili said.

“Because the English should look victorious,” Dafydd said.

And then the rest of Dafydd’s plan dawned on Math. “You will ride to the castle as yourself, with your hands tied in front of you, or seemingly so? While our counterparts on the battlements congratulate themselves on their total victory, we enter the bailey and catch them by surprise.”

Dafydd canted his head. “As you say.”

“What you’re suggesting is a Norman trick,” Lili said.

“It is indeed,” Dafydd said.

“Your father might not approve,” Math said.

“He is not here,” Dafydd said. “And I see no reason why it shouldn’t become a Welsh trick. Do you know what they say where I was born when someone reneges on a bet or a deal?”

Math’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t think he wanted to know.

“You welshed on me!” Dafydd said. “I never thought about the origin of the phrase until I came here. These Normans—and their Saxon subjects—have been belittling us for centuries. If my father had died at Cilmeri, we would have no recourse but to take it. I don’t mind fulfilling Norman expectations if it means victory.”

Math nodded, a quick jerk of his head, and turned to make disposition of the men. They had eight men dead and four seriously wounded, leaving him thirty-six soldiers (plus himself, Lili, Dafydd, and William) who could still fight. Each man wore an identical grim set to his jaw. In turn, they’d killed half of the English fighters, wounded or captured the rest, leaving only a handful left in the garrison at Buellt.

This was still on the condition that Lili had been right about the initial English numbers, and assuming the Welsh defenders hadn’t all betrayed their country and joined the English side. Thirty-six versus half a dozen sounded like good odds to him. Maybe Dafydd wasn’t so reckless after all.

“We must avenge Owain,” Evan, one of Dafydd’s men-at-arms, said.

“But with cool heads,” Math said.

Evan glared at him, and then took in a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, my lord.”

“When we rode from Dinas Bran, our minds were intent on what faced us in the south,” Math said. “None of this did we plan or think would happen—”

“And that is my fault.” Dafydd had come up silently behind Math. “I led you into an ambush. Even if we took steps to prepare for it, Owain’s death is on me, not you.”

“That isn’t true, my lord,” Math said. “We were the ones sent to scout the road. Why we didn’t find them, I don’t know …” He shook his head.

“The English are often clever,” Dafydd said. “Remember that.”

Heads nodded all around.

Dafydd rested a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Which is why we are going to be cleverer than they are this time.” Dafydd took in the gaze of each of his men. “Some of you will not like what comes next, for there is no honor in it.”

Several men grumbled, but one spoke up: “No honor in dying on an English sword.”

“Are we going to wear the Mortimer tunics, my lord?” Evan said. “It would allow us to trick the English guards into letting us into the castle.”

Math fastened his attention on Evan. He hadn’t taken much note of him before. He was a newcomer to Dafydd’s teulu, in his late twenties and thus middle-aged for a soldier, though that meant he was the same age as Math himself. He had come from Ceredigion, the son of one of Math’s many uncles on his father’s side.

“That is exactly what we are going to do,” Dafydd said.

“Good,” Evan said. “But you should not dress as we do. To better deceive the garrison, you should ride as our captive.”

Dafydd eyed him carefully.

Misreading Dafydd’s look, Evan hastily backtracked. “No dishonor meant to you, my lord.”

“None taken,” Dafydd said. “That was exactly my plan.”

Evan rocked back and forth on the balls of his toes, a look of satisfaction on his face. He bowed his head. “It could work, my lord, but it will be dangerous.”

“Every day we stand in defiance of England is a dangerous day,” Dafydd said.

“See that you are properly fitted out,” Math said to Evan, effectively anointing him as a leader. “Too bad we don’t have time to grow beards.”

When the men had turned to their respective tasks, Dafydd gripped Math’s arm. “Come with me. One of the Welsh traitors is in good enough condition for us to talk to.”

Math turned to see where Dafydd pointed. A former member of Buellt’s garrison sat with his back against a tree, ten feet off the road, bleeding from a long gash to the inner thigh. It looked serious enough that he might not live. And he might not live anyway, if Dafydd decides that he has enough captive English in Wales already, and chooses to leave no witnesses to this battle. Math put that thought aside. His brother-in-law would do what he had to do. Princes sometimes didn’t have the luxury of mercy.

Her hands on her hips, Lili stood in front of the man, with William again beside her. Math’s lips quirked to see her small figure confronting the much larger traitor, for all that he lay grievously wounded on the ground.

“Why would you do this?” Lili’s voice carried across the whole of the battlefield.

The man visibly shrugged. “Coin.”

“But why?” And this time Math heard anguish in her voice.

Dafydd approached her from behind and put a hand to each of her upper arms. “It’s okay, Lili,” he said. “Let me handle this.”

Lili held herself stiff, and then her shoulders sagged. She allowed Dafydd to turn her away. Once Dafydd released her, however, she straightened her shoulders and marched straight towards Math. She had the look of a woman on a mission.

“You may not leave his side,” she said. “Don’t let him do anything he’ll regret later.”

“Whose side?” Math said. “Dafydd’s?”

Lili nodded. She lowered her voice. “I have never seen him this angry.”

Math had bent his head to look into her face and now lifted his gaze to study the back of Dafydd’s head. He would have said Dafydd was determined, but the rigid set to his shoulders told him that Lili might be right. Dafydd’s gentleness had been for Lili only.

Math nodded. “I wouldn’t have left him anyway. See what you can do with the rest of the wounded.”

“Come, William.” Lili stepped away, leaving Math to do as he promised. He walked up to stand beside Dafydd, folded his hands behind his back, and let Dafydd get on with it.

“How much did your captain pay you?” Dafydd said.

“Enough,” the man said. “Or so I thought at the time. My lord—” He winced and shifted, pain in his face. “A bandage … please … I’m bleeding out.”

“I haven’t yet decided to let you live,” Dafydd said. “This suits me for now.”

The man gaped at Dafydd. “But, my lord—”

“Am I your lord?” Dafydd said. “Because last I saw, you were among a company of men set on killing me.”

The man shook his head. “Our intent was to capture, not kill.”

“Your intent was to kill his companions, then,” Math said.

Dafydd’s jaw bulged. “That makes it so much better.”

“What kind of plan did you have for keeping the Prince alive?” Math said. “Your aim was deadly.”

“And why do you say, capture?” Dafydd said. “For what purpose?”

The man’s mouth was open and his breathing shallow. “Ransom, I think. The Normans hoped to exchange you for lands in the south.”

“Who gave you your orders?” Math said.

The man shrugged and then grimaced in pain. “The English commander.”

“And who is his commander? One of the Mortimers?” Dafydd said.

The man jerked his head, neither in denial nor agreement

Math leaned in. “You don’t know? You wear Mortimer colors.”

“Gethin said it was better that way. We couldn’t wear King Llywelyn’s! Better to unite under one banner.”

“Mortimer’s,” Math said.

Again the jerk of the head. “I didn’t get the impression that a Mortimer leads the Norman assault.”

“Then who does?” Dafydd said.

“Norman scum are all the same to me.”

“Yet you took their money to betray your King,” Math said.

“A man can’t eat loyalty.”

“And Lord Ieuan starved you, did he?” Math said.

But the man didn’t answer. He was dead.