Unbroken in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  Most charitably, the intent was to carve out a safe haven for twenty-firsters in Earth Two if Avalon destroyed itself. Worst case, their plan was to take over Earth Two and rule it from a base of superior weaponry. Even if the initial idea was the main impetus, once they got here, it wouldn’t take much to start thinking bigger.

  To say fear of it drove David would not be an understatement. The enormity of what George’s controllers wanted with Earth Two made the whole debacle with Aquitaine pale in importance.

  He glanced to where Ieuan stood behind Bronwen. From his rueful smile, maybe he finally understood now why David had agreed to bring the children along on this mission. On one hand, it put them in danger, clearly. But on the other, leaving them at home might have made them more vulnerable. George was here because David and his family were here.

  If David and Lili had left their boys behind, George could have found a way to stay behind too, or returned to England unbeknownst to them, this time not only to capture Arthur, but maybe all the children. Luring George to France meant his sister’s and mother’s children were safe.

  Likely, David was again taking on too much responsibility. Probably Anna and his mom, not to mention Math and his dad, would be ticked at him, either for not trusting them with the safety of their own children or not giving them a say in how things went. But in the end, David got to make the decision because he was Arthur’s dad and the King of England. There were a few perks, if one could call them that, of the position.

  So David turned to Norris, contemplating what truth he was prepared to tell him. He hadn’t met the Templar commander before today, and David was glad he hadn’t asked that particular question before David’s arrival in the hall. He wasn’t sure what anybody else would have said.

  David himself needed a few seconds’ thought before he said, “You are aware, I’m sure, that I was raised in Avalon.”

  It wasn’t meant to be a question and Norris didn’t take it as one. “Of course, my lord, though I have heard you deny that you are the return of King Arthur.”

  Norris’s reply wasn’t exactly a question either, but there was a querying tone in his voice as he spoke.

  David could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, and he chose his next words very carefully. “I am David ap Llywelyn. I have no knowledge of King Arthur beyond what I myself have read or heard. I have, however, made it my life’s goal to abide by his principles. George, on the other hand, although also born and raised in Avalon, has not.

  “What perhaps you do not know is that Avalon is not the land of milk and honey of legend, but a real place with real people who have wants and needs and desires that don’t necessarily line up with what is best for anyone other than themselves, least of all the people we serve. In that, it is a place like any other.

  “George, at the behest of the people he works for, seeks to abduct my son as a means to control me. His employers want Arthur because, like me, he has the ability to travel back and forth to Avalon.”

  “Am I to understand that is a rare trait?”

  “As far as I know, only my family has the ability, which makes them vulnerable to predators like George.” David paused. “Unlike me, Arthur would be controllable.”

  Norris grunted. “They are not fools, then, which is disappointing.” His eyes turned thoughtful. “George met with Flote only a short while ago, and Flote clearly believed then that he had the matter well in hand. He did not yet know you had escaped the palace.”

  “George has to be worried, though.” Christopher hunched his shoulders. “He saw me. He will know that I will report his presence. He will know his time has run out with us.”

  David let out a breath, since the thought had occurred to him too. “It can’t be helped. Perhaps he will convince himself he was mistaken—though, he knows I’m here, so it’s logical you might be too. Regardless, we must keep on. We’ve come too far to turn back now, and George knows nothing of our current plans.”

  Norris shifted, gaining David’s attention again. “What you haven’t told us yet, sire, is how it is you are here? How did you escape the palace?”

  “You saved us quite a bit of trouble,” Elisa said dryly.

  David laughed—and then told them.

  Norris had been standing nearest to David, so it was to him David gave the scroll to read first. Besides which, it was written in Latin, which most of his family didn’t read.

  Norris quickly scanned the document and then read it a second time more slowly. “This appears to be in order. Aquitaine is yours.” He looked up. “The issue is how to ensure it. It is all very well and good for us to have a document saying you are Aquitaine’s duke, but it is quite another to convince those who matter of it.”

  “You never did sign any paper saying you gave it up.” Lili smiled. “Nogaret tried to make him, and he refused.”

  Norris’s expression cleared. “Clever of you, sire.”

  “Likely you would have put your seal on the document he’d created soon enough,” Elisa said. “If you thought it would get you Arthur back, you would have done anything.”

  “Why didn’t he make you do it in the hall?” Lili turned to look up at David. The events of the night had put shadows under her eyes, but their arrival back at the temple had eased some of the tension in her shoulders.

  “I don’t know,” David said simply. “I agree he should have, though I would assume, even if he had, this document from Philippe would supersede any other.”

  Henri scratched the side of his nose. “I suspect Nogaret liked the drama of the scene he’d orchestrated and didn’t want to lessen the majesty of it by taking the time for you to sign your name. He told himself there was plenty of time to force you to do it later.”

  “He’ll be regretting that,” Ieuan said. “Likely it was why he made the deal with George in the first place.”

  “That and weapons,” Christopher said. “It would be nice to know what he’s talking about.”

  “Oh.” Elisa straightened in her seat. “We do know. An army has marched on Angoulême, and they have a machine gun. Callum gave me the proper name—” she looked at her notepad, “—he called it a next generation squad automatic rifle or NGSW-AR that was in prototype last he saw. It has cased telescoped ammunition.” She looked up. “Whatever that means.”

  David bent his head, genuinely surprised. He’d told himself time and again in the lead up to tonight to expect the unexpected—but this he hadn’t even considered. He drew in a breath, accepting for the moment what he couldn’t change. “Did Callum say anything more about it?”

  “Only that it wasn’t taken from the weapon store in Angoulême itself,” Elisa said.

  Michael folded his arms across his chest, a determined set to his chin. Resolution, in fact, seemed to have settled on everyone with this news. “Then where did it come from?”

  “George must have had his own gear on the plane,” Livia said, “and been plotting something like this before he left Avalon.”

  “As we should have expected,” David said. “We can at least send word back to Callum that I am not a captive and plans are progressing.”

  “I’ll let Sir Rupert know,” Henri turned on his heel and left.

  David allowed himself a small smile at the memory of the way he’d knighted Rupert in thanks for his years of service, as well as to give him the stature necessary to be obeyed in the Middle Ages. Rupert had wept at the end. He’d come a long way from the cynical newsman who’d hitched a ride on the Cardiff bus.

  “Any chance Nogaret knows where you’ve gone, David?” Elisa asked.

  “No,” David said flatly.

  “We weren’t followed from the Seine,” Michael said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Upon getting into the boat, David and Cador had rowed them across the Seine to the dock on the other side. By the time they arrived, Michael was there, reaching out a hand for the rope Ieuan tossed to him. Michael had consented to forgo his position as David’s bodyguard for the sake of the mi
ssion, but he’d insisted upon coordinating the spies along both sides of the Seine tasked with keeping watch on the Île de la Cité. It wasn’t luck, then, that had Cador docking on the right bank of the river near the safe house.

  “I gather from all this that you committed us to rescuing the king’s family?” Elisa said.

  David eyed his aunt. “You object?”

  “No. Just clarifying the mission.”

  “It was almost as if you knew Philippe was going to turn on his own advisers,” Norris observed.

  “I assure you I didn’t. I did assume we’d end up captive, and everything else that went on tonight was the result of an abundance of caution.”

  What David didn’t tell Norris was that, since the capture of John Balliol, he had been living the Islamic proverb: trust in God but tie your camel. David’s Uncle Ted, who was the crown treasurer, had openly regretted the expense of so many moving parts and people involved in David’s assault on France. David had replied, whatever the expense, it’s cheaper than war. And not only in money.

  Elisa tapped a finger to her lips. “It sounds as if we have caught Nogaret on the hop. I won’t count on it happening again.”

  “When he shut us in that room,” Lili said, “he locked the door behind him and told the guards to let nobody in or out without either him, Bishop Mornay, or Pierre Flote being present.”

  “Provided Philippe made it safely back to his quarters,” Ieuan said, “we can hope they all went to bed safe in the knowledge that they had gotten the better of David.”

  Elisa canted her head. “Does the fact that you didn’t tell Philippe what else we’re doing here mean you still don’t trust him? You were the only one who thought he might be under pressure from his advisers, and you were right.”

  Norris looked at him closely. “He did release you and give you this.” He held up the parchment.

  “I believe he is genuinely concerned about his family, and he’s willing to sacrifice Aquitaine for their sakes. I believe he is overwhelmed by advisers who have their own agenda for France. But it is that, I think, which is Philippe’s biggest concern. Releasing me does not absolve him from everything that has gone before. The persecution of Jews didn’t begin recently. So no, I still don’t trust him.” He met Norris’s eyes. “You shouldn’t either.”

  “Philippe is a product of his upbringing and traditions,” Bronwen said softly. “He is the logical conclusion of everything that’s gone before him. It doesn’t mean he can’t make different choices, but it would take a man of stronger character than I think he has to defy everything he’s learned and been up until now.”

  “The loss of his family pushed him to free me, but we can assume nothing beyond that.” David continued to look at Norris. “For your aid, I am personally grateful. I am also aware that I am putting you and your brothers at risk.”

  “The Templars are charged with protecting travelers, of whatever creed or religion.”

  “As am I.”

  “But not George,” Michael said. “While he can’t know anything about our assault on the prison, he was privy to some of your thoughts regarding the persecution of Jews here in France. We have to keep that in mind.”

  “I agree we have to remember it, but some of you may not know that George’s grandmother is Jewish. That might count for something as our rescue attempts so far have not been hindered.” Elisa was rightfully proud of how much they’d accomplished in that regard already, and David thanked her outright, since he hadn’t seen her in months either.

  Bronwen nodded. “Jewish or not, George isn’t a true believer in anything, least of all religion. So even if he knows of it, perhaps he has no reason to undermine that part of our plan—particularly if its success distracts us from what he is up to.”

  “Namely, kidnapping our son,” Lili said.

  “It won’t happen, Lili,” Elisa said gently. “We won’t let it.”

  David appreciated her confidence. But the cold fury he’d felt earlier was back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Day Two

  Callum

  Callum could find some comfort that the weapon in the possession of the French wasn’t the MAAWS, the multi-role, anti-armor, anti-personnel weapon system, that had wreaked such havoc at Beeston Castle during the conflict with John Balliol and Roger Mortimer. That was still in its wooden crate in the weapons storage inside the keep. After spying the light machine gun (LMG) in enemy hands, it was the first thing Callum had checked before he’d sent a message to Rupert at the Paris Temple.

  Cassie’s hair was black, so she didn’t need a hat to hide her in the dark, but Peter adjusted one of Bridget’s black wool caps low over his ears as he studied the terrain before them—what they could see of it, anyway, given the steady drizzle coming down. It was a blessing, really. Rain, even in summer, made watchers miserable and less likely to engage in their task with anything approaching enthusiasm. That was even more true in a country where sun was more normal than rain.

  Callum had tasked Angoulême’s guardsmen to watch the wagon that contained the LMG, so if the French moved it, they would know. Because of the rain, the tarp had been pulled back over the wagon ribs, but the wagon itself remained stationed next to the cannon, on the highest ground available to the army, which admittedly wasn’t saying much.

  “How helpful of the French to station themselves so close to the entrance to our tunnel,” Cassie said.

  “Small favors.” Then Callum made a fist to indicate they should stop talking and leave the shadows of the bushes in which they’d been hiding. The area around Angoulême was mostly pastureland and small steadings. Farther east, the farmland was richer, planted in a variety of crops, all of which the French were currently stomping on.

  The exit to the tunnel was in a ramshackle farmhouse, which had been allowed to fall into ruin. To protect the escape route, it needed to be a place in good enough repair that the entrance wouldn’t be blocked, but nondescript enough that no enemy would try to use it to quarter themselves or their animals. When Callum had first inspected it months ago, he’d approved the arrangement. It was similar to the tunnel that had been dug under Aber Castle in Gwynedd. The entrance into Angoulême was, of course, always guarded.

  The news that David had escaped the palace was certainly welcome. Those who remained in Aquitaine had also been emboldened to learn that not only was their duke free, but he retained the duchy for himself. Rupert had read out the document, and those on the Angoulême end—Hugh; the captain of Angoulême’s garrison; and several of Hugh’s knights—had been there to hear it.

  That was deliberate. The more people who heard first-hand what was transpiring in Paris, the better. That King Philippe himself had freed David and his family was not common knowledge as of yet, for Philippe’s protection more than David’s.

  Callum hadn’t told David the details of their plan to take the LMG, but in their brief conversation about its existence, rather than discuss specifics, David had merely said, do what you have to do. And don’t die.

  Dying was certainly not on Callum’s to-do list tonight.

  Hugh, on the other hand, had initially argued against this mission until Callum had described what an LMG could do. He still wasn’t sure that Hugh entirely believed him, but he’d stopped objecting to an attempt to capture it.

  “How are your hands?” Cassie asked him in an undertone.

  “Okay.” And he was surprised to realize he wasn’t lying. It was good to be moving. Staying in the keep, out of the action, gave him too much time to think.

  Peter signaled that he would make his way to the next stopping point, a small stand of trees, and he bent to the ground and took the distance at a run. Cassie followed next and then Callum. The fact that the French were lighting up the night with their torches and firepits, despite the weather—or rather, because of it—meant those in the midst of the camp had no night vision.

  When Callum had seen the French trooper setting up the gun and checking its sights, he’d
briefly feared he was so open about it in order to lure them to attack the camp. Then he’d decided Artois couldn’t know Callum had seen it. It had been one moment among thousands taking place in the dark on the hillside.

  Artois had placed his scouts well forward from the light, and Callum was the first to encounter a guardsman, almost tripping over him in the dark. Before he could shout a warning, Callum managed to clap a gauntleted hand over the man’s mouth and then wrapped him up tightly to render him unconscious. He’d have killed him if he had to. Instead, with quick movements, he trussed him like a Christmas turkey.

  A moment later, Cassie was crouched beside him, and then Peter, since it had been Callum’s turn to leapfrog the others.

  “Fifty yards to go,” Cassie said.

  Callum touched her shoulder. “Do your thing.”

  Cassie left their position via a somewhat circuitous route and eventually appeared near some of the fire pits, limping along amongst the sleeping men. None moved, and Callum felt a moment of satisfaction at the way his wife had guessed right. She could have dressed as a whore, which would have drawn catcalls and looks no matter the hour, but how much better to dirty herself up, with wild, teased hair; filthy clothing; and an ugly skin condition. Bridget and Cassie had giggled as Bridget had applied the paste she’d concocted to Cassie’s neck.

  Cassie eventually drifted out of sight into the darkness, probing for other sentries farther on. If she saw one, she was either to disable him, in which case the mission could continue, or return and wave Callum and Peter off. When she didn’t return, Peter and Callum straightened to their full height and walked normally towards the wagon that held the LMG.

  They were both dressed in garb common to the French army. Soldiers in this era were haphazardly attired in anything that would provide protection, in this case, leather armor and hats—less for defense than because of the rain. They each also wore a blue armband indicating they served King Philippe. Armbands, feathers, and in the case of some Welsh fighters, leeks, were used to distinguish one army from another rather than coordinated uniforms.