Masters of Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  Nicholas often acted as Dafydd’s purser, and he carried gold with him as a matter of course. Because Clare had been pretending he was on the side of the angels when he’d sent them to the King’s Tower, he hadn’t taken either Carew’s sword or his gold. Consequently, Carew had fled the castle with enough money in his purse to buy two horses from the monastery. Having transportation wouldn’t necessarily make their journey faster, since Huw and Raff would still have to walk, but riding would relieve Lili of the weight of carrying Alexander, and Nicholas could better look the part of a knight.

  Last night, travelers on the road had been too overcome by the news of David’s death, which was being broadcast from every village green from here to Chester, to worry about why a knight was walking. The monks had assumed without Nicholas having to lie that his horse had been stolen, and since his gold was as good as the next man’s, they hadn’t objected to selling him replacements.

  “Templars,” Nicholas said in disgust as soon as he recognized the characteristic white mantles with the red cross. “Three of them.” As the riders pounded along the road towards them, they scattered the mid-morning travelers and merchants, who were heading into London to sell their wares.

  “They put the Order of the Pendragon to shame,” Huw said. “I see now that we were too closed and secretive, and that allowed Clare to manipulate us.”

  “The Templars are equally secretive, so I don’t think that’s it,” Lili said. “It was what we focused on. We thought loyalty to Dafydd was enough to unite us, but it wasn’t. Templars serve God and crusade to the Holy Land. There’s nothing to gain personally for any individual except acclaim. Clare joined the Order of the Pendragon to undermine us. He wouldn’t have joined the Templars because all he’s interested in is earthly power.”

  The Templars drew closer, riding as hard as ever, but then the foremost rider, who had seemed intent on barreling past them, suddenly slowed his horse. He still passed their party, because the horse had been galloping too quickly to stop on the spot, but then he turned the horse’s head and came back.

  His two companions slowed too, and one said, “What is it, my lord?”

  The lead rider didn’t answer, just trotted up and dismounted. Nicholas, Huw, and Raff bowed their heads, since Templars were not to be trifled with, but Lili wasn’t feeling conciliatory, and she didn’t look away.

  And then she couldn’t look away. All she could see of the man’s face were his eyes, shining through the slit in the visor of his helmet, but she would know those blue eyes anywhere. She gave a little cry and put the back of her hand to her mouth, unable to speak, think, or even weep.

  Dafydd pulled his helmet from his head and tossed it aside. He reached her in two strides and picked her off her feet in an all-encompassing embrace. Squashed between them, Alexander let out a muffled cry. Dafydd set Lili down again, but he didn’t let her go, and they stood together with their arms around each other.

  Still too overcome to say anything, Lili held on. She had prayed that he wasn’t dead, and the only thing in her head was the fact that he was alive and standing in front of her.

  “My lord—” Nicholas choked on the words.

  Dafydd laughed out loud, and with a kiss for Lili and then Alexander, he overrode whatever Nicholas was trying to say by wrapping him up in a bear hug too. Huw stood next to Nicholas, tears streaming down his cheeks and not making any effort to stop them. Dafydd’s hug for him was just as enthusiastic. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you!”

  “You gave us a mighty scare, my lord,” Nicholas said.

  “I know. I know.”

  Lili touched Dafydd’s arm, needing to know that this wasn’t a dream and that he really was standing before her. “What—” But then there were too many questions to articulate, and none were important.

  Dafydd understood without her having to speak. “Philip took an arrow in the shoulder first, and then I stepped in front of him before he could be mortally wounded. The Kevlar vest saved me, cariad. We fell from the battlements at Chateau Niort and ended up in the river below.”

  She nodded. It was just as she had dreamed.

  He tipped his head. “You aren’t surprised by my story.”

  “I saw it, my love.”

  Dafydd held her by her shoulders. “When?”

  “Before midnight, four nights ago.”

  “That’s when it happened.” His eyes narrowed. “Is it because of you that the Templars at Le Havre and Portsmouth knew to look for me?”

  “Nicholas spoke to his brother, Godfrid de Windsor of Temple Church.”

  Dafydd turned instantly to Nicholas. “Thank you. If not for you and your password, I wouldn’t be standing before you today.”

  “You used it?” Nicholas’s expression lightened.

  “At La Rochelle. It probably saved the life of Philip of France as well.”

  Nicholas swallowed hard. “It was nothing, my lord.”

  “Believe me, it was far more than nothing.”

  Lili put her hand on Dafydd’s arm again. “My love, you did not travel to Avalon when you fell. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t in enough danger, perhaps, though I find that hard to believe. Maybe it was simply that I needed to stay.” Dafydd suddenly looked around. “Lili, where’s Arthur?”

  Lili took in a breath. “He is in Avalon—with Gwenllian.”

  Dafydd gaped at her. “What?”

  “Gwenllian jumped with him from the window in the King’s Tower at Westminster.”

  Dafydd was left momentarily speechless, and he scrubbed at his hair with one hand while he thought.

  “These two helped us escape the castle,” Lili gestured to Huw and Raff, “along with Geoffrey de Geneville, at great risk to himself.”

  “I assume you have a plan for stopping Clare, my lord?” Nicholas was recovering from the shock of seeing Dafydd and from the grief of the last four days.

  “Oh, I have one.” Dafydd gave a laugh. “Whether it’s any good or not remains to be seen. Where have you come from and where are you going?”

  “We spent the night at the monastery at Kingston,” Nicholas said. “We’ve come perhaps three miles today.”

  “We were heading for Wales,” Huw said, speaking for the first time.

  Dafydd shot a longing look west, and then he turned to look in the opposite direction, to the northeast, though he couldn’t see London from where they stood. “It is my plan to confront Clare and Parliament before they crown him. I ride in haste for Westminster.”

  “The whole country believes you dead, my lord,” Nicholas said.

  “The radio stations were the first thing Clare took over,” Huw said.

  “Don’t I know it! These damnable newsmen! When I built the radio, I had no idea what a weapon it would become, or how it could be used against me, by Clare of all people. Even if I oust Clare today, it will take six months to convince everyone I’m actually alive.” He laughed. “I suppose it will be a nice problem to have under the circumstances.”

  “I’m more concerned that Clare has spread the story that France had you murdered and that he himself is innocent in your death,” Nicholas said. “You can’t simply challenge him at Westminster and expect the people to accept that he is the villain of the piece. They don’t love Clare as they love you, but they have grown used to your brand of justice, in which every man is allowed his day in court. Clare has charm, and if he denies any culpability, then it is your word against his, and many will feel you are hanging an innocent man. Do you have proof that he arranged for the assassination?”

  Dafydd gave a mocking laugh. “Not enough. I have a Welsh arrow that I pulled from my chest. That’s it.”

  “Nicholas is right,” Lili said. “The people have always been on your side, Dafydd, but we need a pre-emptive strike to keep them there. Even if you succeed in stopping Clare’s coronation, he isn’t going to admit fault or give way. You can’t have him stabbing you in the back later if you are forced to let h
im go for lack of evidence. And you don’t want to mar your triumphant return with imprisoning him out of hand. It will look petty. Better to win the war of words before he has a chance to counter you or even knows that we are fighting back.”

  “How?” Dafydd said.

  “We need to take Lambeth station,” Huw said.

  Lili hadn’t thought about the station when they’d passed near it yesterday afternoon. For reasons she didn’t understand, the main station for London—and the country—was located in a marsh. The station’s towering antenna broadcast line-of-sight to antennas located on the highest ground all around London, which then broadcast to the rest of England. Lambeth station’s electricity came from a waterwheel in the Thames, while the antennas on the hills were powered by wind.

  “Preferably sooner rather than later,” Nicholas said. “Once we take it, we can tell the whole country that you are alive.”

  There were nods all around from the others too—all except Dafydd, who remained skeptical. “And how are you going to do that? Three men, a woman, and a baby—against how many of Clare’s men?”

  Huw patted the axe on his hip. “We are not without resources, my lord.” Raff lovingly stroked the hilt of the long knife in his belt.

  For Lili, it was decided. “I don’t have my bow, and now I really wish I’d brought it, but we will take it for you, Dafydd. It won’t be so guarded now that Clare believes he has won. Even if he does fear that you are alive, he won’t think it possible for you to have reached London by now. If I didn’t see you standing in front of me, I wouldn’t have believed it either! It hasn’t even been five days!”

  Nicholas put a hand on Dafydd’s shoulder like a benevolent uncle. “I have seen you perform many miracles, my lord. We are all prepared to witness one more. You see to Clare in person, and let us do our job.”

  “Rupert runs the Lambeth station,” Raff said.

  “Is that a good thing?” Dafydd said. “I wouldn’t have called him an admirer.”

  “He is not a soldier,” Lili said, “but he will do the right thing.” She hoped.

  By way of an answer, Dafydd put his arm around her again and bent to kiss Alexander’s forehead. The baby reached for his father, and Dafydd took him, bouncing him on his hip once before giving him back. “I stink of horse.”

  “I will never chastise you for that—or maybe anything else—again,” Lili said.

  “You shouldn’t stop, cariad. You made me promise to wear the Kevlar vest night and day, and that I obeyed saved my life.”

  Dafydd’s two companions had dismounted and approached several minutes ago, but neither had spoken, in large part because the conversation had taken place in Welsh, which they didn’t understand. Dafydd finally remembered them too, and he turned to introduce them. “This is Henri, who has been at my side since La Rochelle, and Thomas Hartley, formerly of Carlisle. He saved my life once.”

  Lili remembered and nodded a greeting at the two newcomers, who bowed before her.

  Dafydd plucked at his lower lip, looking from one to the other. “I hate to let you out of my sight again.”

  “If Rupert is still alive, he will be manning the Lambeth station because Clare’s crowning is a story he would not miss, even for a second,” Lili said. “He knows Carew and me. We’ll be fine.”

  Dafydd was still looking concerned, but he nodded. “Templar dress will get us into Westminster without question.”

  Lili put her arms around her husband, unable to bear parting from him again, knowing that they were both going into danger—he more than she—but seeing no way around it.

  “Just tell them that the rumors of my demise have been grossly exaggerated,” Dafydd said with a laugh.

  Lili wanted to shake him for his flippancy, and Dafydd knew it because he gave her a rueful look. “Time and again, we have paid for my decision to take the throne. Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve sacrificed. But I can’t let Clare win—not this way.”

  “No.” She bent to retrieve his helmet from where he’d dropped it on the ground and handed it to him. “None of us can.”

  Disguised again as a Templar, Dafydd mounted his horse and, with Henri and Thomas, raced away. The four companions who remained looked at each other.

  Huw cleared his throat. “I am ashamed that I lost faith.”

  “No,” Lili said. “Even if Dafydd appears to be the return of Arthur, he is not holy. He is a mortal man, though maybe blessed with more luck and goodness than the average man. He would not begrudge us our grief, because he does not see himself as someone in whom we should have faith.”

  “In fact,” Nicholas said, “he is angry at himself—far more than we could be at him—for making the mistake of trusting Clare.”

  Raff took Alexander from Lili so she could mount her horse, and then handed the baby up to her. Alexander was tired of his wrappings, so he stood in front of her, held close to her body by the sling in which she normally carried him. She cinched it tighter so that he wobbled less. She had known, back before she’d married Dafydd, that having small children to care for would be inconvenient at times. She just hadn’t thought it would be this difficult—or that her heart would hurt so much to be parted from Arthur.

  “How far have we come?” she asked Nicholas, trying to distract herself from the fate of her firstborn son.

  “Three miles back to Kingston, then another ten to Lambeth.” He checked the sky. “It will be close to noon by the time we reach the radio station. We should hurry.”

  “We should ride double.” Lili lifted her chin to Huw and Raff. “Take the other horse. Nicholas, you ride with Alexander and me. This heavily laden, the horses won’t be able to gallop, but they can canter thirteen miles if we need them to.”

  “And we do,” Nicholas said.

  Two hours later, both horses were dragging with exhaustion. Alexander was no longer enjoying the ride but was clutching Lili around the neck on the verge of what Dafydd called a meltdown. But they had finally reached the narrow road that would take them towards the Lambeth radio station. Lambeth Palace, the seat of the Archbishop of Canterbury, was built on the same marsh. Mostly the archbishops came and went by boat rather than navigate the wetland that surrounded them.

  The radio station lay to the south of the palace, for here the Thames ran north to south. Once again, they were a stone’s throw from Westminster, and Lili felt that if she stretched out her arm, she could reach out and touch Dafydd, who should surely be there by now, waiting for her to speak. While getting inside the station was itself terrifying, she was suddenly feeling inadequate because she had no idea what she was going to say. She’d never given a public speech before.

  Nicholas started frowning as the antenna came into view. “Where are the guards?”

  “Maybe they’re all at Westminster,” Lili said.

  Truthfully, there was no reason for Clare to station more than a handful of men here. Dafydd was dead. He was about to be crowned king. Who was there to threaten him?

  They dismounted and moved with the horses to the edge of the road. Lili’s dress became instantly soaked to the knees by the long grass.

  “Leave the horses.” Without waiting to see if Huw and Raff obeyed him, Nicholas crept forward, as if scouting out an enemy location was something he did every day.

  When they were still forty yards from the station, two men, one red-haired and burly and the other thin and dark, came around the side of the building. They looked to be on patrol.

  Lili, who was crouched behind Nicholas, froze. “What do we do?”

  “Do you recognize either man, Huw?” Nicholas said. It didn’t appear that they’d been spotted yet, though that would change in a heartbeat if Lili couldn’t keep Alexander quiet. He was nursing while wrapped in the sling, but he was so easily distractible at this age that he might rear up at any moment and demand a different kind of attention.

  “No,” Huw said, “which means they might not recognize me.”

  “I’ll go first,” Raff
said. “I’ve just come to London. They’ll know from my accent I’m not from here. While I distract them, you work your way around to the rear of the station, and the three of us can jump them at the same time from different directions.”

  Nicholas jerked a nod, indicating that he agreed. Raff headed back the way they’d come, so as to approach the station openly and as if he’d just arrived. Nicholas put a quelling hand on Lili’s shoulder. “You stay here, my queen.”

  For perhaps the thousandth time, Lili wished for her bow, because she could have removed both men from the equation with two arrows. Nicholas and Huw headed into deeper woods to the right, and Raff set out towards the station along the road, whistling, with his hands thrust deep in his pockets. He was whistling a ballad about King Arthur, sung in taverns from Hythe to Bangor and believed to reference Dafydd. Probably not the best choice of music today.

  The two guards didn’t notice or care, nor did they immediately move to arms. As Raff approached, the red-headed man said, “Who are you?”

  “Lost.” Raff laughed and shrugged elaborately, his hands upturned. “How do I cross the Thames?” Raff had started to roll a bit as he walked, implying that he’d drunk a great deal.

  “Not here.” The guard rolled his eyes in the direction of his partner. Both men looked on with amusement as Raff got to within two feet of them, and it was only in the instant that Raff moved that Lili realized—a half-second before the guards—what he planned to do.

  Since his hands were up already, he needed hardly any motion to pop his right fist into the red-haired guard’s throat. Then, at somehow nearly the same instant, a knife appeared in Raff’s left hand, which he drove into the chest of the thin guard. They both dropped, at which point Nicholas and Huw bounded out of the woods.

  “You didn’t wait for us!” Huw said, offended.

  Nicholas approached the red-haired guard, who had his hands to his throat and was gasping and choking, trying to get his breath. “Sorry about this.” And he stamped hard on the man’s neck, breaking it.

  Lili shuddered and looked away, her nostrils flaring at the scent of violence in the air. She was glad that Alexander hadn’t seen it. She came out from behind her tree and approached the five men: three living allies and two dead enemies. “Is there anybody else here?”