Chapter 14

 

27 August 1288

Near Hay-on-Wye

 

David

 

David didn’t care if it wasn’t logically true: England felt different. Whether it was (what he prejudicially viewed as) the more serf-like existence of its people, the difference between being pastoral and agricultural, or something more intangible, the hairs on the back of David’s neck told him they’d crossed into enemy territory.

Now they just had to get back.

“William, slow down!” David said.

The boy pulled up, seemingly more subdued now that he’d gotten what he’d wanted. Or at least a part of it. David wanted to take the boy over his knee and paddle him.

They’d skirted the city to the south, circled around it to the east, and waited for three carts to pass. Now, they dismounted to rest the horses and stood alone at the edge of the road near a newly harvested field of grain. The remaining stalks stood up every which way. It looked as if scavengers had already picked it over.

“You should be ashamed for pulling a jester’s act like this,” Lili said. She’d berated him earlier, but now it looked like he was in for a greater degree of chastisement. David was perfectly happy to let Lili get on with it.

William’s chin jutted out. “I have to rescue my father.”

“At the cost of your honor? What would you father say to that?” Lili said.

William’s expression turned mulish. “I did what I had to do.”

“And that will relieve your father when he realizes that his son hasn’t the integrity to fulfill his bargains?” Lili said.

“Lili—” David wasn’t sure she should be taking this approach. William might run away again.

But Lili turned on him. “Don’t you start! Humphrey de Bohun, and by his presence, William, agreed that he should be your squire. A squire who runs away from his master spends the night in the dungeon where I come from!”

William stared at her, wide-eyed, while David tried not to smile. Despite his initial misgivings, Lili’s medieval version of good cop/bad cop—even if unintentional because she was sincere—looked like it was working. David decided to go along with her. “He’s just a boy—”

“As he’s proven today!” Lili glared at William, whose face had paled. He hadn’t thought about it this way, child of privilege that he was. As Lili had known, talk of dishonor was not something a Bohun could take lightly. She continued, “If he was a man, he would have made a man’s plan, in conjunction with his lord, not gone without one into England!”

David rubbed his chin as he studied William. “She has a point, William. What do you say to her? I stand before you, but if one of those English soldiers knew who I was, he would have taken me captive in a heartbeat or possibly killed me on sight and brought my head to his lord. You had—have—my life in your hands.”

“I didn’t ask you to come—”

“And again, that shows how little respect you have for the Prince of Wales,” Lili said.

Lili had browbeaten William into submission, not that he didn’t need to hear what she had to say. The boy stared down at his feet, chewing on his lower lip and digging the toe of his boot into the dirt. “I didn’t think of those things.”

“Obviously,” Lili said.

David cleared his throat. “Do you understand that I can’t rescue your father. Not today?”

Another sullen look from William. He really hated being in the wrong. “Yes.”

“Do you understand that you must do what I say, because I say it? This is not about your father anymore,” David said.

A hard swallow. “Yes.”

“Good,” David said. “We’ll put the matter of your flight aside, then, until my father can take it up with your father. Which he will.”

William lifted his head and stared at David. “But if my father dies—”

“I am not abandoning your father, William,” David said. “But I refuse to go along with a boy who has no plan, beyond the feeble notion of rescue and revenge. If you are to serve me, you need to live by what is in your head, not your heart.”

William’s temper was rising again. “This is my choice—”

David overrode him. “When one is a prince—or a Norman lord—no choice is truly ever your own.”

William glared at David for a count of five, and then heaved a sigh. David sensed true capitulation. Now was the time for magnanimity.

“The issue before us now is getting back to Wales before anyone recognizes either you or me.” William’s mouth opened to reply, but David wasn’t finished. “This isn’t about cowardice, William, or failure to do one’s duty. This is about common sense. I have men to advise me, men who know your father and have fought with him in the past. Among all of us, surely we can come up with a way to rescue him without the three of us going unprepared into the lion’s den.”

William licked his lips, his eyes on David’s. Then, he pointed west with a jerk of his chin. “Wales is that way. It’s a simple matter to ride to it.”

“It is not a simple matter,” David said. “I’m surprised you don’t know it.”

“But—” William said.

“We can’t ride back the way we came without those guards stopping us and, very likely, turning us back,” David said. “Did you notice what they did after we passed?”

Both William and Lili shook their heads. “I didn’t want to alarm you at the time, but two overturned carts now block the road. Perhaps we could go around their blockade or even jump it, but I would prefer not to risk an arrow in the back if I don’t have to.”

“The other paths aren’t any easier,” Lili said. “To the north of Hay, the Wye River is more of a barrier than Offa’s Dyke.”

“There’s a ford at Rhydspence—” William said.

“It’s guarded,” Lili said. “My brother told me.”

“Well, then …” William paused to think. “Further south, the Black Mountains block our way, though we could get through them given time.”

“Not without great effort,” David said. “And certainly not in time to help my father win this war.”

William finally seemed to have come to a true understanding. He bowed. “I apologize, my lord. I didn’t think. It won’t happen again.”

Fortunately, Lili didn’t express her disbelief, though like David, she surely must have thought about it. David gazed south and then west. “We will do what we must. The nearest southern passage into Wales along a road is at Abergavenny.”

“That’s twenty miles from here!” Lili said. “Plus, I’m sure it’s guarded too.”

“We have another option,” William said. “My father rules at Clifford Castle since John Giffard died at Lancaster. That’s where I was heading tonight.”

David had forgotten about that particular addition to the Bohun fortune. “So you weren’t going to ride all the way to London in the dark?”

William shook his head, looking sheepish. “I was hungry, and it was raining …” His voice trailed off.

“The castle perches on a cliff that guards a ford across the Wye,” David said, for Lili’s benefit. And then added, since English was not her first language, “which is where we get the name Clifford.”

“It’s two miles from here, if that,” William said.

“Lead on,” David said.

They remounted their horses and headed north along the road. Lili moved closer to David, just behind William, who led the way. “And if one of Bohun’s many enemies has taken Clifford?”

“Then the conspiracy is far vaster than we anticipated. All the more reason to get back to Wales before we become pawns in the Norman game.”

The castle sat on a natural knoll lying alongside the Wye River. It was a steep drop to the ford that gave the castle its name. It had belonged to the Cliffords until the line died out and merged with the Giffards. The moment the towers appeared in the distance, William pulled up.

“Is something amiss?” Lili said.

“The flag that flies above the castle is the wrong one,” William said.

It looked right to David. “It’s the white swan,” he said.

“My father swore that until I had the crown of England upon my head, he would not fly that flag anywhere. It is his personal banner, not the standard of the House of Bohun,” William said.

“Which means—” Lili stared at the flag instead of finishing her sentence.

“Which means that whoever holds the castle does not know of my father’s pledge.” William’s color was high.

“How strong was the garrison?” David said.

“A dozen men,” William said. “No more.”

David exchanged a glance with Lili. “We have some experience with traitors among the garrison, do we not?”

“Money can buy many men,” Lili said. “We saw that at Buellt.”

“And at Aberdw three years ago.” David dismounted and caught his horse’s bridle. With a tug, he got him moving into the woods to the north of the road. “We need to get closer.” The trees formed a buffer between the road and the Wye River and would provide them with adequate cover while they approached the castle.

As they entered underneath the branches, David’s breathing eased. He’d lived in Oregon for ten years, and the last five in Wales. He felt comfortable out of doors, and in the woods in particular. He was no tracker, but his feet made almost no noise on the bracken beneath their feet. Lili, too, was nearly silent, having spent her life in her brother’s wake. William tried to follow their lead, though he was somewhat less successful in keeping quiet.

A hundred yards from the castle, David stopped. Rain dripped from the leaves above his head and down his neck. But it was a warm rain, and he was hot in his armor. “We should rest here until dark.”

Lili shivered, and David reached out an arm to pull her closer. “We’re going to be okay.”

“Are we?” she said. “In the last two days, I’ve ridden behind you in battle, stormed a castle, been shot with an arrow, and followed a wayward boy into England. The world is a far bigger place—and more menacing—than I thought.”