Masters of Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  “Yes, my lord.” The men bowed together and hastened from the room.

  The dock to which Clare was referring extended out from the ground floor of the King’s Tower and was accessed by a narrow doorway a few yards upstream from the window. It had been intended as a means to provision the castle from the river or as an escape route for the defenders. The Tower of London, which protected the eastern edge of the city, had a similar arrangement.

  With Clare no longer looking out the window, Lili moved past him and climbed into the window seat in order to better look straight down. With one hand on the window frame to support her weight, she stared at the water.

  Clare put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find them. Don’t worry.” Even though his primary prize—Arthur, rather than Lili—had escaped his clutches, he was back in character. Motioning that Geoffrey de Geneville should come with him, he strode out the door after the guards and gradually his footsteps faded down the corridor.

  Lili pulled back from the open window, sat on the edge with her feet dangling to the floor, and burst into tears. Her arms wrapped around her waist, she curled into a ball, sobbing. Carew reached her in one stride and pulled her off the seat and into the comforting circle of his arms. He might be only fifteen years older than she, but he held her as if she were his own daughter. And since he loved David as a son, or perhaps a beloved nephew, that wasn’t far off. David was King of England and Prince of Wales, and Carew just a courtier, but David had never been one to emphasize rank, and he had entrusted Carew with his family for a reason.

  Finally, her tears abating, she said into his chest, “What did you see?”

  “Gwenllian jumped and then—” He broke off, finding himself unable to continue.

  Lili gripped his arm tighter, “And then what?”

  “They were gone. I know I reached the window in time to see them fall into the water, but I didn’t.”

  Lili blew out a breath and sat abruptly on the edge of the bed. Alexander lay under a blanket in the middle of the bed, fast asleep. Carew had children of his own, and he knew babies sometimes fell asleep when they were scared. He thanked God that his own wife and children were safe in Wales at his seat at Carew Castle near Pembroke.

  Eight summers ago, Carew had made a fateful choice. He had abandoned his previous allegiance to the English crown and thrown in his lot with King Llywelyn and Prince David. Nothing that had come afterwards—good or bad—had ever shaken his faith in that decision. He’d seen the irony in it too. When David had eventually become King David of England, he’d effectively renewed Carew’s loyalty to the English crown.

  Strangely enough, the news of David’s death—if Clare was right and Lili wrong—hadn’t changed that certainty. Men died. Even great men died, and while Carew thought the age of twenty-four was far too soon to have lost David, that didn’t change Carew’s responsibilities to him or to his legacy, which devolved upon Lili, Arthur, and Alexander.

  Truth be told, the fact that Gwenllian and Arthur had not, in fact, fallen into the Thames River and drowned but had traveled to Avalon only confirmed him in his faith—like almost nothing else could have done. The miracle that was David’s reign hadn’t died with him. God had arranged for David to save Llywelyn at Cilmeri, and He was still looking after David’s family. Who was Carew to question the Will of God?

  He sat beside Lili on the bed and put an arm around her shoulders. After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned into him again, no longer sobbing but just letting the tears flow silently down her cheeks. When Clare had told her about David’s death in the receiving room, she’d barely had time to absorb the fact that her vision had been real before Gwenllian and Arthur had run away. The subsequent chase and recapture had aroused her maternal instincts. She had been the one to come to him in the first place with the news of the attack on David, but he could feel doubt in her now, with Clare’s certainty before her. She had to be feeling that she had lost everything.

  Whereas Carew was beginning to feel a little more positive about the possibility that David really could be alive. The man had proved himself impervious to death a dozen times before. “Arthur is safe in Avalon, Lili.”

  “I’m so scared that he isn’t.” She looked up at him.

  He smiled down at her. “David’s alive as well, Lili.”

  She wiped at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “I want you to be right.”

  “It’s you who were right all along. Two days ago, Clare stood before us, telling us the outlines of what you saw in your vision. It stands to reason that if your seeing could show you what he told us, it showed you the rest as well.”

  “I was dreaming. I could have turned a seeing into a wishful dream because I didn’t want to know the truth.”

  This wasn’t the time for doubt. The disappearance of Gwenllian and Arthur had laid out what had to come next for them as nothing else could have. Carew should have acted sooner but hadn’t seen a way forward. Now, regardless of how difficult it appeared or what the cost, he had to get Lili and Alexander out of Westminster Castle. In order to do that, he needed Lili strong and sure. How he was actually going to achieve freedom, Carew didn’t yet know, but accomplish it he would—or die trying.

  Lili put a hand on Alexander’s belly, rocking him gently to keep him asleep. “What exactly do we know?”

  Carew was glad to see her returning to her usual sensible self. “Not much beyond the fact that Clare says David is dead. He has so far refused to tell us more.”

  Leaving Lili with Alexander, Carew went to the window and looked down one more time. Clare himself was now standing on the dock below, his hands on his hips. Though Carew couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, his gestures were full of rage.

  Clare had been right to think that he could safely incarcerate them in this tower. There shouldn’t have been any escape out the window, except he hadn’t counted on the fact that Arthur could travel to Avalon like his father. It could be that, all these years, Clare hadn’t believed in the legend that had grown up around David. His admiration had been for show, starting with that first moment when he found himself unexpectedly rescued by David, Lili, and William de Bohun. He’d ridden in David’s train all these years, waiting for the moment to strike out on his own. The extent of the betrayal and Clare’s duplicity boggled Carew’s mind.

  Carew wished the three of them could follow Gwenllian and Arthur. But they couldn’t, not with Alexander still a babe in arms. There was a good chance the little boy did have the same ability to travel as his father and brother, but Carew couldn’t risk it. They would simply have to think of something else.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  16 June 1293

  Lili

  Once it became clear that Gwenllian and Arthur weren’t to be found, Clare had returned to the room and apologized to Lili, his tone sincere, to the point that she could almost believe that he hadn’t plotted against them. Then, because she wanted to see his reaction, she took a chance and told him that she believed Gwenllian and Arthur to be in Avalon.

  In the instant after she told him, just as when the pair had jumped, there was a moment where Clare didn’t have complete control over himself. He didn’t do anything overt—curse or sneer at her—but she saw anger and also a frisson of fear crossed his face.

  It wasn’t because Arthur had escaped. That loss was a setback, but not a vital one. No—Clare suddenly feared that the news of Dafydd’s death was false and that, instead of dying, Dafydd had traveled to Avalon, just as Gwenllian and Arthur had done. They all had witnessed men writing Dafydd off only to be foiled in their moment of triumph by Dafydd’s return. In that moment, Lili saw Clare wondering if their fate would be his and if the grand destiny he’d plotted out for himself was not his for the taking after all.

  Now, with Clare gone again, Nicholas paced about the room, occasionally looking out the window as if the children might appear at any moment in the water below. Lili rocked in the chair, nursing Alexander and trying to keep her sp
irits up. She wasn’t the same girl she’d been when she’d run from her love for Dafydd. And while she’d turned down his proposal of marriage twice, she’d learned in the intervening years that love wasn’t something to run from, even as it made a person vulnerable to heartache. Her heart was breaking now with Arthur gone and Dafydd missing, but love gave her a reason to keep on living too.

  Finally, with Alexander asleep again, she stood and laid him on the bed. Straightening, she walked to the window to look out it with Nicholas. Arthur and Gwenllian did not appear. “We cannot stay here, Nicholas, not even for another hour. Clare is still marshalling his allies, but losing the children has thrown him. He won’t be thinking as clearly in this moment as he will another hour from now.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “I know. I have thought the same thing, but I’m struggling with the idea of risking you.”

  “But you have to,” Lili said. “Every choice we make involves risk—and I say that sitting here is far more dangerous than trying to leave.”

  “Do you think to distract the guards with a request for the toilet?” Nicholas gestured to the door. “They might let you out, but like as not they’d simply tell you to use the chamber pot in the next room as we’ve been doing. We are in the most heavily fortified castle in London. I can’t overcome a dozen men by myself with just my sword.”

  Then he frowned as men shouted and footfalls rang in the corridor outside their room. Two heartbeats later, the door opened and Geoffrey de Geneville walked in. Lili would have spat at his feet if it didn’t mean befouling her own room.

  “Come with me.” It wasn’t a request.

  “Why?” Lili said.

  “There will never be a better time to escape than now.”

  Lili gaped at him. “You’re defying Clare? You’re letting us out?”

  Geoffrey pressed his lips together for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what’s going on. With David dead, the world is uncertain, but Clare has gone to the hall to meet with Parliament, and I no longer feel comfortable leaving you in this tower, under his so-called protection. I think you need to leave, and I have made arrangements for it.”

  Bong, bong, bong. Since Parliament met inside Westminster Castle itself, a stone’s throw from where they now stood, the bells calling the representatives to meet reverberated throughout the castle. Lili had been far too occupied with what was going on inside the room to worry about what was happening outside it, but now she shivered at the thought of what might transpire this day within the parliamentary hall.

  “We must hurry,” Geoffrey said. “Clare intends to declare war on France and is asking for the power to do exactly that. News of David’s death has been all over London for two days, and Clare claims the French are responsible. He says a French fleet is even now sailing for our shores.”

  “I know he told us that, but he knows this for certain?” Lili said.

  “I know only what Clare says.” Geoffrey grimaced. “The printers have filled the streets with broadsheets, and the radio speaks of nothing else. You know how newsmen are: they make up the news if they don’t have something true to say. We expect to see white sails on the horizon at any moment. Parliament will give Clare what he needs to act—maybe even the throne.”

  Nicholas moved to stand protectively beside Lili. “We believe Clare arranged for David’s death.”

  Geoffrey’s expression didn’t change. “How could you know that?”

  “We had indications months ago, before the Christmas incident, about an alliance between Clare and France. How is it that David is dead and Clare on hand to take his place? Why wasn’t Clare in Aquitaine with David participating in the very meeting where he met his death?” Nicholas canted his head. “Why weren’t you?”

  “I received a message from the king that I wasn’t needed,” Geoffrey said.

  Lili scoffed. “That message wasn’t from Dafydd.”

  “It bore the royal seal!”

  “I imagine it did,” Nicholas said. “What is Clare’s excuse?”

  “The same—a message from the king. But the missive to Clare told him that the meeting with King Philip had been delayed and that he didn’t need to arrive at Chateau Niort for another fortnight. Clare was in London taking care of some business affairs.”

  Geoffrey opened the door, looked into the corridor, and then looked back at Lili and Nicholas. “We are wasting time. Everyone knows that from the very beginning of David’s reign Clare was one of his staunchest supporters. Nobody will question his fitness to lead us. He probably won’t even need to ask.”

  “Where are our guards?” Nicholas stepped into the doorway with Geoffrey.

  “Seeing to the safety of the arriving members of Parliament. The guards who aren’t guarding the gates and wall-walks are preoccupied with the city. London is full of unrest. It seems that not everyone accepts David’s death or agrees that they should support Clare. Still, we can’t count on more than a quarter-hour’s grace. We should hurry.”

  “If you do this—help us—and Clare wins out, your life will be forfeit,” Nicholas said.

  Geoffrey smiled wryly. “We all die a little bit every day, Carew. The key is to make each day worth living.”

  Lili had a thought to grab her bow and quiver from where they hung on the wall, but as she took a few steps in that direction, Geoffrey motioned to her. “I’m sorry, my queen, but we want to look ordinary. If you have your weapon, it will draw attention and questions will be asked. You are grieving the loss of your husband. Why would you need your bow inside the castle?”

  Irked but knowing Geoffrey was right, Lili gathered up Alexander, who was still asleep, and left the room with the men. Geoffrey led them south along the corridor to the tower stairs, which they followed down to the ground floor and then turned north again, heading for the dock entrance. Earlier, Clare had taken that avenue to the dock to look for Gwenllian and Arthur.

  No men guarded the door. They hadn’t encountered any in the corridor or on the stairs either. A rowboat was pulled up alongside the dock with two men waiting—one at the oars and another on the dock, holding the mooring line to keep the boat from floating free.

  The nearer man wore a felted hat pulled down low over his eyes, so it wasn’t until he held out a hand to Lili and she took it that she saw that it was Huw, Dafydd’s ever faithful follower and a member of the Order of the Pendragon. When Dafydd was sixteen, Huw and his father had walked him across Gwynedd after men tried to assassinate him. Here was Huw, eight years later, providing a similar service to Dafydd’s wife and son.

  Lili clutched his hand. “Thank you.”

  Nicholas stepped into the boat behind her, nodding his head to Huw in acknowledgement of the great service he was rendering. Geoffrey, however, did not follow.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” Lili motioned with her hand that he should hurry.

  “We don’t have much time. Someone will see!” Nicholas pointed to the battlements, though there was no one was looking down on them at the moment. Even if someone had been, he wouldn’t have been able to make out Geoffrey from that angle.

  Geoffrey shook his head and stayed where he was in the doorway to the castle. “I can do more good for Arthur if I stay here.”

  “Clare will know it was you who released us,” Nicholas said.

  “How? My clerk will claim that I was in my office all this time. I am not even a member of the Order.” Geoffrey gave them a small smile. “Pray for me.”

  He closed the door, and Huw climbed into the boat and released it from the dock. He made a move as if to sit beside his friend, a man Lili didn’t know, but Nicholas had already sat in the second seat and grabbed an oar for himself. The two men started rowing, making for the far shore rather than turning the boat into the middle of the stream.

  “Where are we going?” Lili said.

  “Home,” Huw said, “where we should have stayed all along.”

  Lili understood why Huw would say such a thing. It was easy to think
that all Dafydd had achieved in becoming King of England was danger to his family and death for himself. But as Geoffrey had said, everyone died a little bit every day. Far better to strive for more than the ordinary. From the way it looked today, Dafydd had risked everything and lost. And yet, he had made a difference to millions of people in the five years of his reign. Even now, no matter how lost or hunted he might be, Lili thought that he would consider it a fair trade.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  16 June 1293

  David

  At least he wasn’t cold.

  Or as injured as Philip.

  Or dead.

  As David thought about it, things could have been a lot worse. It had taken only two days to reach Le Havre, which was a Herculean feat that one of his Welsh bards might sing about if David lived to tell the tale to him. Three hundred and twenty miles in forty-eight hours by horseback wasn’t a world record, but it was coming close, and he would have been proud of himself and Henri if both of them weren’t nearly falling off their horses in exhaustion.

  They’d been delayed by thrown horseshoes, by the weather, by a desperate need for sleep that had both of them lying down at the Templar station last night at their twenty-second change of horse and mistakenly sleeping for a full seven hours. The Templar sergeant who manned the stable had been asked to wake them after four hours of sleep, and he hadn’t done it—not without an apology, admittedly. He’d told them he felt it a shame to wake them, given how far they’d come—and he’d sat watch over them the whole night.

  As the King of England, David hadn’t ever slept with only one guard, in a barn or otherwise. Of course, the man hadn’t known David’s identity, as Henri still did not, and the Templars were so renowned throughout France for their fighting skills that only a lunatic would think to attack them, even in an unfortified stable.