Masters of Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  It seemed to David that if there was ever a time to use that password, it was now.

  The sky had grown darker over the last few minutes. Clouds had come in, skittering with the wind to hide the moon and stars, but David could still see Philip narrowing his eyes at him. “I’m not going to England.”

  “Fine. You can sail to wherever you think you’ll be safe.” It seemed pointless to argue with Philip, in large part because a lot could happen in forty miles, including their deaths. David lifted his chin to point ahead of them. “What is that village?”

  “I do not know. It’s your land.”

  “I had never set foot in Aquitaine before this week, and you know it.” David shook his head. “I’m afraid to ask for help. We have to assume every town in the region is controlled by Clare’s men, not mine.”

  “We still might be able to find horses. Or steal them.” Philip groaned again, and now he leaned into David, who ducked under the French king’s right arm and put it across his shoulders as he had done when they’d left the beach. If Philip’s strength was waning already, they were never going to make La Rochelle.

  They needed help, no question, but as David had said to Philip, he was worried about where to get it. If he were alone and uninjured, he would have simply kept moving. He could walk forty miles. Philip, despite David’s sarcastic comment about his legs being uninjured, could not.

  When they were thirty yards from the first house in the village, David pulled Philip into some woods to the south of the road and set him down against the base of a tree. Then he went forward alone. The village consisted of a cluster of homes surrounding a green. At this time of year, the animals that belonged to the villagers were left outside in a corral rather than brought into the houses. Each house was simply built of wood and clay with thatch roofs with a hole in the center to let out the smoke from a central fire.

  Nobody was stirring, but then a dog barked and a man holding a lantern came out of the first house. He held it up, revealing himself to be at least thirty years older than David, a little hunched, with a scruffy beard and unkempt hair. He wore breeches, a wrinkled shirt, and no shoes. “Who goes there?” Except the man said it in French, Qui est là?

  Aquitaine had been a war zone for as long as it had existed. With Philip wanting the country for himself, and the village so close to the border with France, David shouldn’t have been surprised that a villager would be alert to visitors in the middle of the night.

  David put up his hands. “I am a traveler, seeking aid. I have a wounded companion, who needs bandaging.” Soaked as David was from the river and without armor or sword, he looked more like a vagabond than a king. He also didn’t have any money, which was a stupid oversight that he swore here and now that he would never make again.

  The man screwed up his face, squinting at David. “You’re not from around here.” His breath was as sour as his tone.

  David’s accent had given him away. “I’m English.” It was close enough to the truth.

  The man gestured with his chin to the east. “The chateau is just there. You would be better off seeking aid from them. We have nothing here and cannot help you.”

  “But—”

  Hoof beats sounded on the road—the first David and Philip had encountered since climbing out of the river. The horses were still some distance away but coming from the east.

  David ducked his head. “I will take your advice and leave you be.” Without another word, David ran back the way he’d come, his feet pounding as loud as he could make them along the road to give the half-blind peasant a clear idea where he’d gone. Then he dove into the woods and pulled up in front of Philip. “Come with me and don’t speak.”

  They didn’t have time to flee, so they had to deceive instead. David helped Philip along a narrow trail, having had a sudden inspiration that moving closer to the village rather than farther away might bring them within what the villagers thought was a safety zone. If the peasant gave him up, Clare’s soldiers would start looking for him farther to the east.

  They ended up in a ditch amongst some bushes, a stone’s throw from the village entrance. The villager stood exactly where David had left him, still holding the lantern, which was a blessing because it meant he had no night vision and couldn’t see anything beyond the circle of light. Not that he likely could have anyway.

  After another minute, four riders approached, torches held high, and even though it had to be nearly one in the morning by now, more people in the surrounding huts stirred. A second man came out of his house, followed by a half-dozen more peasants, all men. The second man said something to the villager who’d greeted David, and though David couldn’t make out the exact words, it sounded cutting. The villager gave up his lantern to this newcomer, who appeared to be the headman of the village, and took a step back. Then, lantern in hand and buttressed by a handful of his fellow villagers, the headman went forward to greet the riders.

  “We are hunting two men, traitors, one English, one French,” one of the riders said without preamble. “They attacked Duke David and King Philip of France as they were meeting at Chateau de Niort. Both assassins were wounded, but they escaped the castle by diving into the river.”

  So I’m an assassin now. It wasn’t quite as good as being a pirate. Beside David, Philip cursed softly under his breath and then said, “Clever.”

  “Have any strangers passed this way?” the rider added.

  “No, my lord,” the headman said, “not that we have seen.”

  David held his breath in expectation that the villager would correct the headman, but he didn’t.

  “How is the duke?” said another peasant.

  “Both king and duke are dead,” the lead rider said. “Set a watch. I will return before dawn.”

  At the headman’s nod, the four horsemen continued through the village, and the several men who’d gathered at their arrival conferred for a moment before splitting into pairs. It looked to David as if they were going to patrol the margins of the village and along the road, but not yet into the woods. The man who’d greeted David went back inside his hut.

  “We have to go now.” David got Philip upright and moving south. Within fifty yards, the woods grew sparse and soon gave way to fields. He helped Philip over a stone wall and across a pasture of grazing sheep. Only then did he breathe more easily.

  “Clare has no royal blood,” Philip said, as if their conversation of earlier hadn’t been interrupted by some wound bandaging, stumbling about in the dark, and nearly being caught by Clare’s men. “How can he think to take the throne?”

  “After me, he is the richest, most powerful man in England, with a private army of men who will fight for him, especially if they believe I am dead. What if Clare were to suggest that France was responsible for my death? There’s nothing like a good war for uniting people behind their king.”

  “As you discovered to my detriment not long ago,” Philip said sourly.

  The war had been entirely Philip’s fault, of course, but this admission might be all the apology David was going to get. Since his people had won at Hythe, he didn’t see a need to chastise Philip about it today. “It would be especially true if Clare manufactures proof that your replacement had me murdered.”

  What he decided not to point out, thinking that Philip wouldn’t understand, was that the people of Hythe hadn’t repelled Philip’s invasion for David at all. They’d done it for themselves and for England. Overlords like Philip and David’s Norman barons were pretty much out for themselves and their own power and prerogatives.

  The Normans had conquered England not because they cared one tiny bit for the people, but because they wanted the land and the power that went with ruling. David had grown used to the power he wielded, but he liked to think that he didn’t need it. Philip wanted the whole of what would one day be France under his control because he wanted power and money. He had never been interested in what his people thought or in their welfare.

  Contrast that atti
tude to Wales, where every rock, tree, and mountain was holy to the Welsh, lord and peasant alike, and by which terms his father had defied David’s predecessor, Edward: Even should we so wish … never would our nobles and subjects consent in the inevitable destruction and dissipation that would surely derive from submission to these terms. It would surely be more honorable, and more consonant with reason, if we should hold from the king those lands in which we have right, rather than to disinherit us, and hand over our lands and our people to strangers.

  David had been King of England for only five years, but he thought he had the measure of his people now: the Saxon underbelly of the Norman conquest—the English people—felt as strongly about their lands, language, and laws as the Welsh did. No Frenchie, as the men of Hythe had called Philip, was going to take their identity from them if they had any say in the matter.

  This was, of course, the attitude that Clare would call upon in taking the English to war against France to avenge David’s death. What David hadn’t quite figured out was how Clare could have colluded with a French baron to assassinate Philip and then turn around and start a war against that same French baron, who would now be King of France. Maybe both lords viewed a little war—a few skirmishes, maybe a sea battle—to be a small price to pay for a throne.

  “Similar parties to that one have ridden in every direction from Chateau Niort,” Philip said. “Perhaps a man has been sent to Paris with word of my death, and another to London with news of yours.”

  David grimaced. “Every homestead and hamlet we encounter between here and La Rochelle might be closed to us by now.”

  They reached another wall, and Philip leaned against it breathing hard. He glanced at his shoulder. Even in the dim light, David could see the blood continuing to seep from the wound.

  “We need to keep moving, David, before I’m unable to ever move again.”

  Chapter Five

  13 June 1293

  Bridget

  As she walked through the darkened castle with Peter, Bridget’s heart thudded in her chest, less with fear than with excitement. Maybe it was a product of reading so many adventure stories as a child, but from the time she was small, she’d loved moments like these. Something was happening. As when she and Peter had investigated the attack on James Stewart and the French emissary last Christmas, she was glad to be a part of it.

  Peter felt the same way. It was one of the things that had brought them together.

  Three weeks ago, after Lili had decided that she couldn’t travel to Wales for the birth of Bronwen’s son, Bridget and Peter had come to London, in preparation for David’s departure for Aquitaine. Peter had wanted to go with David, but David had convinced him to stay behind, as one of the few people he could absolutely trust at Westminster. Peter had agreed in large part because it was the same request David had made of Peter last Christmas, and David had been absolutely correct to ask Peter to stay.

  Bridget was a modern woman, sprung from a world in which the sight played no role. But she had been around Lili long enough to believe that she really could see. And given all the times David had guessed right about something, she was pretty sure that he could too.

  Bridget shivered. It was only by chance that she’d been awake and near the door when Lili had cried out. If she hadn’t, Lili might have gone back to sleep and not shared her dream—maybe not until the morning—maybe not ever.

  “We knew something was going on with Clare, and we dismissed it, Peter. How could we have done that?”

  “I’m kicking myself, believe me. The Templars warned us. We had whispers from around the country. We even had chatter within the Order of the Pendragon, and we did nothing.”

  “I’m wondering now if Clare didn’t encourage Amaury de Valence to ambush the French emissary as a way to distract us from what he himself was doing,” Bridget said.

  “I’m not wondering,” Peter said. “The idea of the sight makes me uncomfortable, but if Clare has betrayed us, it makes a whole lot of other things that have gone on recently make sense. He has been hiding his true self for a long time now. It was a mistake not to take his interests into our calculations.”

  “David could have paid for that oversight with his life,” Bridget said.

  “Not according to Lili.” Peter stopped and turned to Bridget. “Why do you believe her? You don’t think her dream was just a dream?”

  “You didn’t see her, Peter. She was like a ghost there for a minute. And you know she’s been right before.”

  He took in a breath. “Well, if nothing else, it gets us out of London and back home where we belong.”

  Bridget smiled. Her husband had grown up in the city, but he was a country boy at heart. “It’s just too bad we can’t simply ring up Callum and tell him what’s going on.”

  Peter snorted. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out of mobile phones.”

  That was an inside joke between Bridget and Peter. Not a day went by that they didn’t wish for a way to talk to each other in real time. If they had phones, David could have called for help all the way from Aquitaine. Unfortunately, communication with France was still restricted to homing pigeons, and they weren’t necessarily the most reliable of creatures.

  “Maybe we should talk to Rupert before we go—tell him what’s going on. He’s loyal to David, and maybe he could think of a way to get word to Callum, Llywelyn, and Math.” As the newsman for the crown, Rupert broadcast the events of the day from Lambeth station, which lay across the river from Westminster Castle and was powered by a waterwheel in the Thames.

  Peter shook his head. “We shouldn’t. I don’t doubt Rupert’s loyalty, not really, but even if he could get a message all the way to Shrewsbury, there are too many relays in between and too many men manning them.”

  They reached the stable, which was deserted at two in the morning, only to find Lili had arrived ahead of them.

  “I thought you were nursing Alexander?” Bridget said.

  “He’s asleep again.” Lili looked Bridget up and down. “You do make a very fine man-at-arms.”

  Bridget smiled. She was dressed from head to toe as a low-born soldier, meaning that her cloth was poor, her armor was merely a leather jerkin, and she carried an axe in her belt instead of a sword. That was just as well. Peter had taught Bridget to use an axe for self-defense, rather than a knife or sword, because she’d taken to the axe most easily. Probably her Scottish heritage showing.

  The bulky, ill-fitting outfit did hide her curves, which weren’t all that easy to hide normally. The heavy cloak and knitted cap over her fiery hair helped too. She was dressed this way to present the image of a man with no money but one who could defend himself if he had to. Peter was dressed similarly, though of a slightly higher station, and wore a sword belted at his waist.

  “At least we don’t have to worry about Callum believing you.” Lili took her by the shoulders. “Clare will stop at nothing to gain power. Don’t underestimate what he might have in store for you out there.”

  “I won’t.”

  Lili looked at Peter. “Take the high road and don’t stop unless you absolutely have to.”

  “If a rider left from Chateau Niort in this same hour, he has over three hundred miles to ride to reach Dover, plus a voyage across the channel, while we have not even a hundred and fifty,” Peter said. “Your vision has given us a four-day head start on anything Clare might have planned.”

  “And if my dream wasn’t a true seeing?” Lili looked worried for the first time.

  “Then Bridget and I will have made a swift journey home,” Peter said, “and we will look into Clare’s activities anyway.”

  Bridget took a chance and hugged her friend. “And if you’re mistaken, we will all just be grateful when David returns home safely.”

  “That is what we all want and need. I—” Lili stopped.

  Bridget looked at her curiously. “What?”

  “You are the first Englishwoman I have ever felt close to,” Lili said. “I have been the
Queen of England for five years, and yet I have kept all of my ladies-in-waiting at arm’s length. If you hadn’t been here, I would have had no female friend to turn to.”

  “It’s hard to adjust to a new place, even if you aren’t the Queen of England,” Bridget said. “I have never known what to say or how to talk to anyone who isn’t from Avalon—except for you. And now I’m riding away and leaving you alone.”

  Lili managed a smile and returned Bridget’s hug. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back.”

  Bridget nodded, though she wasn’t sure she meant it. She didn’t like London; she didn’t want to come back. It was Lili who had committed to spending much of her life here because she was married to a man who’d become the King of England despite himself. “When David gets back, you might consider telling him how much you hate London. The court is wherever the king resides, you know.” She smiled. “I’d tell him, in particular, that Shrewsbury is quite beautiful this time of year.”

  Lili laughed. “I remember.”

  Then Bridget looked intently into Lili’s eyes. “As long as David is alive, Clare has failed.”

  “It still leaves David floating down a river in the middle of Aquitaine with a wounded King of France,” Lili said.

  “That is true,” Bridget said. “But given your seeing, we can’t sit by and do nothing. He really is in trouble. Even though he is hundreds of miles away, we will do everything we can for him.”

  Chapter Six

  13 June 1293

  David

  “When was the last time you traveled this far on foot?” Philip said.

  They’d been walking for hours, through fields and woods, and across creeks, avoiding every settlement out of fear that their false identity would have spread far and wide by now—and that if they were seen and captured, they would be killed before their true identities could be revealed. They had turned west as soon as David thought it was safe to do so, and could only hope that La Rochelle was, in fact, getting closer.