Footsteps in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  “When did my father send for you?”

  “I received word of your arrival the day after Christmas, but it took some time to make a proper disposition of my men. Ewloe is only a few miles from Hawarden and Flint, both of which the English once held and would like to hold again. Edward himself sits at Rhuddlan, waiting for the weather to clear.”

  “Are you a knight?” David blurted out. Math certainly looked it, with well-polished mail armor, sword, and leather bracers worn with use.

  He laughed, but not at David. “Yes,” he said. “And someday, that fate will be yours, God willing.”

  As they rode down the road to the valley floor, David kept glancing out of the corner of his eye at Math. Math sat very straight, his hands on the reins just so, his shield held at exactly the right angle. Without saying anything, David tried to copy him. David had a sense, all the same, that Math was watching him and knew what he was doing. David decided he didn’t care. Father wouldn’t have brought Math to Castell y Bere if he didn’t trust him, and if he didn’t think David had something to learn from him.

  “Today we ride west,” Bevyn said above the clopping of hooves and the murmur of boys, “to the sea.”

  David’s ears perked up at that. He hadn’t yet seen the sea, even though it was fewer than ten miles from Castell y Bere. They forded the River Dysynni, to the northwest of the castle, and then followed a trail along the north bank of the river. When the river cut south, the trail continued west to the sea and the village of Llangelynin. They rode without stopping through what in the summer would be rich farmland, and less than an hour later reached the beach.

  David breathed in the sea air. His eyes strained forward across the water, but the low clouds hanging on the horizon blocked the view towards Ireland.

  And America.

  “The sea is in my blood,” Math said. “My family’s lands lie in the south, at Dinefwr Castle in Ystrad Tywi but I was born at Aberystwyth, in the old castle that Edward destroyed. That castle sat on a headland, overlooking this sea, and was beautiful, not like the half-finished ruin that Edward thought to build.”

  “Who has it now?” David said.

  “Gruffydd ap Maredudd. During Holy Week a year ago, we took Aberystwyth, Hawarden, Flint, Llandovery, and Carreg Cennen in one night. We’ve won and lost these and more in the last year, but Aberystwyth is still ours.”

  “Were you there?”

  Math laughed again. “No. The rebellion was all your uncle’s idea at first, you know. Your father didn’t join the fight until nearly summer. We’ve had some defeats and a few victories, most notably at the Menai Straits in November. Edward has waited two months to attack again. It will come, and I pray we will be ready.”

  “I don’t know that I’m ready,” David said.

  “You are,” Math said, “else your father wouldn’t be letting you fight.”

  Bevyn spoke above the murmuring of the boys. “We will split up, today,” he said. “I’ve a new lesson for you. You’ll need to find your way home without my help.”

  “Now that’s going to be interesting,” Math said. He tipped his head to David and Owain, indicating they should ride with him.

  Llangelynin didn’t have much of a beach and within an eighth of a mile of the shoreline, a rocky escarpment rose over two hundred feet above it, forming a ridge of land that descended only slightly to the farmland on the other side. Further east, the land fell nearly to sea level, before rising again to the foot of the mountain range of which Cadair Idris was the highest peak.

  Two miles north, however, which is probably why Bevyn suggested they take that route in the first place, the escarpment receded and it was possible to ride around it inland.

  “So the first step is done,” Math said. “Now tell me the direction of Castell y Bere.”

  David thought about it and pointed southeast.

  “No,” Owain said. “It is directly east, perhaps ten miles.”

  Math shook his head. “Make it five and you’d be correct,” he said. “We rode south from the castle along the Dysinni, before cutting east. Five miles riding is less than an hour’s work, but there’s a twelve hundred foot mountain between us and the castle. Should we go over it?”

  Owain and David slowly shook their heads, both thinking harder now. “No,” David said. “We go around it.”

  Math nodded. “North or south?”

  “South,” Owain said, more confident now, “back to the Dysinni.”

  “Yes,” Math said. “The first rule of travel through unfamiliar territory is to stick with what you know. We know there’s a mountain between us and the castle; we know that Cadair Idris rises above us to the northeast.” He pointed, and Owain and David turned to look, but the cloud cover had descended even further.

  “And,” Owain finished, “we know the river passes by the castle.” He held out his hand as a snowflake fell into it.

  “So we pick our way between the ridge that runs along the sea, and the one that rises between us and the castle,” David said, wishing for the ease of a GPS unit, or at worst, a map and compass.

  Math nodded. “You must always remain aware of the land through which you’re traveling. Ridges, rivers, mountains, wind, sun—all will inform you of your location. If the snow falls,” and now he looked up to check the sky, “you have the wind to guide you. Your great-grandfather built Castell y Bere were he did, Dafydd, because it guards a primary route for travel and trade into the mountains behind it, and is one of the most defensible locations in Wales. An army can approach the valley over which it presides only from the east or west. By following the intersections of roads, ridges and the river we can determine the direction we must travel.”

  “Even in snow?” Owain said.

  David checked his cloak. It was dusted with white.

  “Even in snow,” Math said, “though it’s much less pleasant than when the sun and wind are at your back. If we were anywhere but here, we might have to stop and find shelter, rather than risk becoming lost in the mountains.”

  With one last look at the grey sea storming onto the shore, David turned inland and led Owain and Math along the curve of the ridge east, and then southeast through the blowing snow. The wind was behind them at first, and then swirled and became directionless as the escarpment rose between them and the sea.

  The clouds descended until they couldn’t see ten feet in front of them. “It’s going to get dark before we’re home,” Owain said.

  They plodded on, hoods up and cloaks tugged tight. They reached the river an hour later and turned east towards Castell y Bere. Then, just as David thought they were on the home stretch, Owain’s horse slipped awkwardly on uneven ground the snow had hidden.

  “I’m sorry, my lords,” Owain said when he dismounted. Although the horse’s leg wasn’t broken, he couldn’t put his weight on it.

  Math dismounted too. “It’s a sprain only,” he said, feeling the horse’s hock. “We’ll have to lead him.”

  The horse’s head bobbed with every step, but he walked the rest of the way. Even as they neared the castle, they would have missed it if beacons hadn’t shone from the ramparts. They followed the light, wending their long way up the road to the castle gate. When they reached it, Prince Llywelyn was standing under the raised portcullis, his cloak blowing around his shoulders and his hands on his hips.

  “Father,” David said, dismounting in front of him.

  “Son,” he said, but only glanced at David once before looking over his shoulder to Math.

  “All is well, my lord,” Math said.

  David’s eyes went from his father, to Goronwy, to Bevyn, both of whom stood slightly behind the prince. Something was wrong and it took him a moment to realize that each them was holding himself very tightly. Prince Llywelyn’s jaw was set and his eyes narrowed. Angry at me? Why?

  “My lord,” Goronwy tried, and David had a sense that this was not his first entreaty.

  “What happened?” Father said, his voice flat and emotion
less. “You’re the last to arrive.”

  “Owain’s horse slipped and strained his leg,” David said. “He could barely walk.”

  “It’s only five miles from here to the sea,” Father said.

  “As the crow flies,” David said. “We followed the ridge south, and then had to turn northeast again along the Dysinni. We must have come at least double that distance.” David tried to keep defensiveness out of his voice, but probably failed.

  Math stepped forward, rescuing him. “It is better that he becomes a little lost here, my lord, and learns to read the landscape close to home, before he attempts it elsewhere where he’ll have no choice but to find his way alone.”

  Father’s face remained rigid.

  Now it was Goronwy’s turn. “If you don’t allow Dafydd experiences such as this, you do him a disservice.”

  “That’s why you brought me here, Uncle,” Math said, “to keep him safe and I have done so.”

  “You told me to ensure he learned what he needed to know, sire,” Bevyn said. “I apologize if I misunderstood your intentions.”

  “You didn’t,” Father said, finally. He stepped towards David and wrapped his arm around his son’s shoulders. “It was I who was unprepared.”

  Chapter Seven

  Anna

  Prince Llywelyn, David, and a host of men rode out of Castell y Bere, in the third week of January, 1283. What’s more, David rode at the head of the company, at Prince Llywelyn’s side, acknowledged as his son. Somehow, after that afternoon in Papa’s study, without any overt acclaim, word had spread. By dinner, everyone in the castle had known David’s true identity. Instead of anger, there was general contentment, if not a palpable sense of relief. Prince Llywelyn had been wise to give his people time to become acquainted with David’s character, so that now their response was a genuine, “Of course he is! We knew it all along!”

  Before he left, Anna found David near the stables, adjusting his stirrups (because he’d probably grown two inches over night). Putting her arms around his waist, she squeezed him tightly and pressed her face into his wool cloak.

  “Be safe,” she said.

  He turned and hugged her to him. “I will.”

  Anna let go to look up at him and he smiled, with eyes that were bright with excitement. Anna’s were bright with tears because what she really wanted to say was don’t go and leave me here by myself! But she didn’t say it. She fought her tears, swallowed hard, and stepped away. She even managed to smile.

  “This isn’t a computer game, remember. That sword is real!”

  “I know it!” He mounted his horse. Once seated, he turned serious and reached down to take Anna’s hand. Sliding his fingers through hers, he leaned close.

  “Don’t worry, Anna.” He spoke in English in case others were near enough to overhear. “Father isn’t going to put me in the front lines the first day on the job. This week we’ve talked more about the future of Wales. He says that Wales exists now under a sentence of death. Each day he lives is a reprieve of sorts, and he’s determined to live until he sees me grown. Unlike his father or grandfather, he has no other son. I won’t fight unless I have to.”

  He squeezed her hand and let go. Back straight and eyes forward to where Prince Llywelyn waited near the castle gate, David brought his horse through the ranks of cavalry, which parted respectfully. When he reached the head of the lines of troops, he approached his father and bowed his head. Prince Llywelyn smiled, more with his eyes than with his mouth, but his face looked as bright and excited as David’s. He reached out to David and they clasped forearms as they’d done that first morning when he and Anna had arrived. With that, a huge cheer went up from the men and women in the courtyard.

  Anna’s lips trembled and she put a hand to her mouth as the tears began to fall. She pulled up her hood to hide her face.

  Gwladys tugged it back down. “He’ll want to see your face as he leaves. You must smile and wave at him. From this distance, he cannot see your tears and you must pretend they’re not there.”

  Without replying, Anna held up a hand as Gwladys had suggested and was glad of her advice, because just then David turned for one last look. Anna smiled and waved and he raised his own hand in salute.

  Then he was gone.

  Anna watched until the entire company had ridden away. Then she turned to Gwladys, put her head on her shoulder, and wept. Gwladys held her and patted her back until she quieted.

  Anna took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Gwladys. I don’t know why I’m so upset.”

  “Are you afraid for his life?” she said. “Surely you know he’ll be well protected.”

  “It’s not that.” Anna realized she wasn’t crying out of fear for David or even for herself. She was crying because what she’d witnessed was one of the most magical things she’d ever seen, or thought to see. David had found his father, and Prince Llywelyn his son, to the acknowledgment of all, and with this the world was a completely different place.

  Gwladys set off towards the great hall, but when Anna held back, turned with a questioning look. Anna shook her head. She couldn’t go back inside, back to her embroidery and her baby tending.

  “I’m going for a ride,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Gwladys said. “It’s very cold today.”

  “I’m sure.” Anna turned and headed towards the stables.

  “You won’t go alone?” Gwladys called after her.

  “I’ll take a groom with me,” Anna said over her shoulder. “There’s no need to worry. I’m only going for a ride, not into battle!”

  Anna gave a little wave, and Gwladys went inside. Anna reached the stables and passed many empty stalls before she found her horse. She looked around for someone to take with her, but all her usual companions had left with the cavalry. The only person available was Hywel, the boy they’d met that first day in Prince Llywelyn’s camp. Anna called him to her. He looked like he’d grown two inches in the last month, just like David.

  “Would you be free to ride with me today?” Anna said.

  “Yes, my lady!” he said. “I would be honored.”

  As he saddled the horses, Anna reflected that he seemed as infected by the excitement of the day as everyone else. It was a good thing she was going out so she couldn’t dampen anyone else’s good mood.

  As they rode from the castle, the wind was brisk, but as always, the scenery was spectacular and Anna’s spirits rose. The mountains loomed above them in all their splendor and she resolved to ride every morning, regardless of the cold. David will be fine. Wales will win out. All will be well.

  For the next two days, Anna rode with Hywel and tried not to be gloomy. On the third day, they were headed home, leading their horses through the trees instead of riding because the branches were heavy with snow and lower to the ground. Anna probably could have ridden Madoc under them because both she and her mount were short, but Hywel’s horse wasn’t as gentle as hers and had a habit of trying to brush Hywel off. The warriors had left this particular creature behind because of that habit, and they’d regretted bringing him multiple times already. They hurried now because they’d left for their ride late, well after noon, and it would soon be dark.

  All thoughts of time vanished, however, as they ducked under some particularly low branches. A shout of laughter followed by the words, “You are a fine fool!” came through the trees.

  Anna froze. She couldn’t believe it. It was English—a weird sort of English with unfamiliar vowels, which would probably be written something like ‘Yow ar a fyn fole’ by the medieval-obsessed people Mom hung out with, but understandable to Anna, nonetheless.

  They waited, hardly daring to breathe and praying that the men weren’t coming their way. More laughter and murmurs were followed by the sound of men relieving themselves in the bushes—a most distinctive sound and, sad to say, one Anna had grown accustomed to hearing over the last weeks.

  After another minute the feet tramped away, moving to the east. Hywel leaned tow
ards Anna. “We must return to the castle!”

  Anna thought for a second, and then shook her head. “Here,” she said, handing him Madoc’s reins. “Stay here! I must follow those men.”

  “My lady, no!” Hywel said, shocked. “You cannot! They’re English!”

  “Yes, Hywel, I know,” Anna said, “but before we go home I must find out how many there are, where they’re camping, and perhaps even what they’re up to. By the time we find someone to help us, they may have hidden themselves in the woods and it’ll be too late.”

  Anna took a step in the direction the men had gone but Hywel reached out and grasped her arm. “My lady!” he said, even more anxious than before. “I can’t allow it. I’ll go. You return to the castle and raise the alarm.”

  “You don’t speak English, Hywel.” Anna was trying to remain patient, though she was worried that the men might disappear before she’d worked this out with Hywel. “I do.” Then she saw his fear and his sincerity and thought better of her plan.

  “All right,” she said. “We’ll go together.”

  Hywel tied the horses to a nearby tree and they set off, single file. Anna let Hywel lead, in concession to his masculinity and the fact that he knew these woods better than she did. He found the footprints of the two men without any trouble and they followed them another quarter of a mile before they saw signs of more men and horses. At the bottom of an incline, they looked up through the trees and spotted a group of men at the top, moving about in a purposeful way.

  They crouched behind a bush and looked at each other, not really knowing what to do.

  “We wait,” Anna said.

  Hywel nodded, fortunately without asking Anna to explain what they were waiting for. A chance. A break. They burrowed into the bush and tried to keep warm, wrapping their cloaks close. One thing Anna had found hard to get used to in Wales was the constant chill. Whether outside or in, unless she was close to a fire, she was cold. Even wrapped in a cloak, with two layers of stockings and woolen leggings under her dress, she couldn’t defeat it.