Footsteps in Time

by Sarah Woodbury

  It was summer, then, not winter; in Deheubarth, not Gwynedd; but if the next twenty-five years of losses had taught the Welsh anything, it was to not underestimate the English. King Edward had rallied the men closest to him and had attempted to repel the attack centered on his encampment. Father was late getting to Trefriw because his had been the contingent that had faced Edward. Father hadn’t won there, losing perhaps an equal number of men to Edward, but he’d not lost either and had retreated in good order, under cover of more arrows.

  Once the entire Welsh force had crossed the Conwy River, Llywelyn had set about ensuring that the English couldn’t advance any further south. He placed his archers on the ridges along the west bank of the river and instructed them to fire at will into the English camps. As before, the English tried to regroup, but couldn’t move either forward or back.

  “It’s over,” Math said. “Edward must face the loss of half his men, either to us, to dysentery, or fever, and admit defeat.” He stood beside David, two hundred feet above the river at the ridge of Cae Coch, just south of Trefriw, looking east.

  “Will he make for the woods?” David gestured with one hand to the ridge on the other side of the valley where his company had stood hours before to launch the initial attack.

  “He can’t,” Math said. “His men will never obey. They know those woods are full of Welshmen. He’ll commandeer boats at Degannwy and pray we haven’t taken Rhuddlan.”

  “But we have,” David said. “Uncle Dafydd was true to his word.”

  “For once.” That was Bevyn on David’s other side, murmuring under his breath.

  “Edward will have to sail all the way to Chester,” Math said. “He has no choice.”

  “This will cost Edward plenty,” Bevyn added. “In both gold and men. His barons are not going to be as supportive next time.”

  “If there is a next time,” Math said.

  “Whose flag flies there?” David pointed to a red cross on a yellow background.”

  “Mortimer,” Math said. “The same ones who betrayed your father.”

  Bevyn spat on the ground. “Too bad they weren’t on the hill that day when you and your sister drove your chariot into their men.”

  “Speaking of your sister, my lord,” Math said, and then paused.

  David glanced at him, but he was looking at Bevyn.

  Math canted his head and Bevyn gave him a grin, before retreating a few steps away.

  “What?” David said.

  Math turned back to David, a look of concentration on his face. “I would like your permission to court her.”

  Standing on the ridge, with Edward and his men retreating before him, David was overcome by the outrageousness of it all. He couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

  Part Two

  Eighteen months later…

  Timeline: 1196-1284

  1196-1240: Llywelyn ap Iorwerth (the Great) rules as Prince of Gwynedd and later most of Wales.

  1215: English barons force King John to sign the Magna Carta.

  Circa 1228: Llywelyn ap Gruffydd born to Gruffydd ap Llywelyn, eldest (illegitimate) son of Llywelyn ap Iowerth.

  1240: Llywelyn ap Iorwerth dies. Succeeded by his legitimate but younger son, Dafydd ap Llywelyn.

  1244: Gruffydd ap Llywelyn dies when a makeshift rope breaks as he attempts to escape from the Tower of London.

  1246: Dafydd ap Llywelyn dies unexpectedly, without an heir. Llywelyn ap Gruffydd stands in his stead.

  1255: Battle of Bryn Derwin. Llywelyn ap Gruffydd defeats his brothers, Owain and Dafydd, becoming sole ruler of Gwynedd. Imprisons both brothers.

  1256: Llywelyn releases his brother, Dafydd, from prison.

  1258: Llywelyn accepts allegiance of Princes of Deheubarth, styles himself Prince of Wales.

  1263: Dafydd, Llywelyn’s brother, defects to English.

  1267: Treaty of Montgomery signed by Henry III, ratifying Llywelyn ap Gruffydd's claim to the title Prince of Wales. Dafydd ap Gruffydd restored to Llywelyn’s favor as part of the treaty.

  1268 (January): Marged and Anna come to Wales.

  1268 (November): David ap Llywelyn born to Marged and Llywelyn.

  1272: King Henry III dies.

  1274: Dafydd ap Gruffydd, Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, and Gruffydd’s son, Owain, plot to take Llywelyn’s life. Plot is foiled by a snowstorm, but Owain confesses to the Bishop of St. Asaph’s. Dafydd and Gruffydd flee to England. Sensing blood, Edward I demands Llywelyn ap Gruffydd pay homage to him before he recognizes him as Prince of Wales. Llywelyn refuses.

  1276: Edward I declares Llywelyn a rebel.

  1277: Edward gathers an enormous army and invades Wales. Llywelyn forced to sue for peace, resulting in the Treaty of Aberconwy, which restricts Llywelyn to his lands in Gwynedd and restores Llywelyn’s brother, Dafydd, and Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn to their lands in Wales (Dafydd in Gwynedd near Conwy, Gruffydd in Powys).

  1278: Llywelyn marries Elinor, daughter of Simon de Montfort.

  1282: Dafydd ap Gruffydd grows dissatisfied with subservience to Edward and rebels against him. Dafydd is joined by other Welsh lords who are discontented with Edward’s rule. Llywelyn, as Prince of Wales, sanctions the revolt and unites much of Wales under his banner.

  1282 (June): Elinor, wife of Llywelyn, dies in childbirth. Their daughter, Gwenllian, lives.

  1282 (December): Ambush of Llywelyn by Mortimers thwarted by David and Anna.

  1283 (January): Edward gathers a second huge army to attack Wales. Is soundly defeated by the resurgent Welsh.

  1284 (April): Edward II born.

  Chapter One

  Anna

  David pushed open the door to the great hall and stood on the threshold. Beyond the entranceway, rain poured down in sheets and made muddy puddles in the courtyard. The water in the air and on the ground reflected the flickering light of the torches that lit the gatehouse of Rhuddlan Castle. “Hey, David,” Anna said. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” he said. “Why are you up?” He pulled off his cloak and shook it out, soaking the rush mats spread around him on the floor. He checked for his sword on his left hip. Ever since Papa had knighted him last year, he was never without it, not even in his own hall in the middle of the night.

  “I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake Math,” Anna said. “What are you doing out in this?”

  “Taranis spooks during thunderstorms,” David said. “I wanted to make sure he was all right.”

  “How was Dyfi?” Anna said.

  “Asleep,” David said. “That horse is so placid, sometimes I wonder if she doesn’t sleep even when you ride her.”

  Anna laughed and turned from him, glad to see him well. She was tired enough now to return to her room. Lately, her sleep had been troubled and perhaps the storm was affecting her too, because within moments of laying her head on her pillow, Anna dreamt as her mother for the first time in many months:

  I wrap my arms around my waist and lean forward, trying to control my nausea as the plane shudders and jerks. The pilot puts out a hand as if to steady me, and then quickly moves it back to the controls.

  “My God, Meg!” he exclaims. “What happened? We should be dead on that mountain! Now, there’s nothing but static on the radio and I’m flying by the seat of my pants here. The electronics are good, but what I can see of the terrain looks totally wrong. I don’t understand it!”

  “Just put her down if you can, Marty,” I say. “We can figure out what’s going on when we land.”

  “Put her down!” Marty shouts. “Where!” And then he screeches. The sound echoes throughout the small cabin. The trees we’ve been flying over give way to a heavy sea, rolling beneath us.

  “Jesus Christ!” Marty says as he circles the plane back toward land.

  I say nothing, just look out the window at the country below, my chin in my hand. The fog isn’t as thick now, but it limits visibility to a quarter-mile. No houses or towns are in sight and the land is rocky all the way down to th
e shoreline.

  “Where in the hell are we?” Marty demands.

  As we are supposed to be flying from Pasco, Washington to Boise, Idaho, I can understand his bewilderment. The land looks familiar to me, however. I suspect this fact will not comfort Marty in the slightest.

  “Fly south, Marty,” I say, after he circles the plane for a third time.

  We can just make out the sun, trying to shine through the fog. It’s very high in the sky. It makes me think that, temporally, we are in the same late-summer we left in Washington. Wild-eyed, Marty does as I ask. We fly on, unspeaking. The land rolls away beneath us. The rocky coastline gives way to a hilly, grass-covered terrain, interspersed with stands of trees. Everything is green. The patches of ground we can see don’t include a city.

  “We’re going to run out of fuel soon,” Marty says softly. “What do you suggest we do?”

  I sigh. “Just put her down. Find a field. Hopefully people live among these trees, though I don’t see any smoke.”

  “Smoke,” Marty retorts. “I gather I’m not looking to follow the power lines?”

  “I’m afraid there won’t be any power lines.”

  “You know where we are?” Marty says. He glances at me. “What’s going on here!”

  I turn to look at him. Watching his face, I say as clearly as I can, “This has happened to me before. I can’t explain it, but I’m afraid we’ve been displaced in space and time, to a world not our own.”

  “You’re kidding me!” Marty snorts. He looks out the windscreen. “Aren’t you kidding me?”

  I shake my head and sit on my hands so he can’t see them trembling. I’ve prayed for this to happen since Anna and David disappeared. I’d given up hope. “Sixteen years ago, I lived in thirteenth century Wales for close to a year,” I say. I look out the window again, trying to get my bearings. “But I can’t tell from up here what century this is.”

  Marty grips the yoke so hard his knuckles turn white. Another minute and the fog thins enough to reveal a small lake with a clearing next to it that looks like a possible landing site. Unspeaking still, Marty circles the little plane, lowering it with every revolution. He lands and brings the plane to a halt. With a twist of his wrist, he turns off the engine, and we’re quiet.

  “I think I saw power lines to the north, just as we landed,” he says.

  “No, Marty. You didn’t.”

  “I did. I know it.”

  I decide not to wait for further recriminations or questions I’m not ready to answer, and wrench the door handle. Pushing it open, I hop out, hauling my backpack from the seat behind me. The lake is a few yards to my right and is as clear as any I’ve ever seen. Grasses grow almost to the water’s edge and wildflowers cover the hills around us. I take a deep breath and gaze up at the sky, now as clear as the air I breathe. The fog is gone. And what does that fog represent? The fog of confusion? The mists of time? I have no answers for Marty.

  Before we landed, I too noticed something in the distance that looked man-made, though it wasn’t power lines. Hoping to spot it again, I shoulder my pack and take off at a brisk walk, following the south side of the lake. After fifty yards or so, I angle away from the lake and head up a small hill that forms the south side of the little valley. Another ten minutes of hard walking brings me to the top. I stop and turn to look back at the plane. Marty’s still seated inside. Then I gaze in the opposite direction and my heart skips a beat.

  A long wall stretches before me. Dear God, it’s Hadrian’s wall. I sink to my knees. This is just too much. I’ll have to cross miles of open country to reach Llywelyn, if he still lives in this world. Is time here following the same trajectory as at home? Is it 1284 or a different era altogether? Even if he changed the future as I urged, Llywelyn still may not have survived. The thought is terrifying and hysterical laughter bubbles up in my throat. I try hard never to think of him. Can I really return to him again?

  I look down at the plane and am astonished to see it rolling steadily across the grass. I watch dumbly. Surely, he’s not going to take off and leave me here? Where exactly does he think he’s going to go? To find his mythical power lines?

  I shout, though I know he can’t hear me over the engine of the plane, and take off at a run down the hill. I’ve walked too far, however, and I’m only half-way down the slope when his front wheels lift off the ground. Five seconds later, he’s fifteen feet above the ground—then thirty—then one hundred. He circles the little white plane around the lake and even has the gall to tilt his wings to wave at me, before heading north to heaven knows where. I watch until he disappears...

  Anna jerked awake, startled out of sleep by the sudden ending to the dream. She reached out under the covers, looking for comfort, but felt instead an empty space beside her.

  “Math?” she said. Anna pushed up on one elbow to survey the room, which was beginning to lighten with the rising sun.

  He was at the door, already dressed, but turned back to Anna when she called to him. “I hoped not to wake you.”

  “Why are you up?” Anna said.

  “Last night’s storm is spent, but the Irish Sea is unforgiving. The results are driving towards shore, including many dead. Your brother is hoping that we’ll find some people alive and he asked that I come with him to survey the damage.”

  “I’ll come too.” Anna swung her legs out of bed.

  “Anna,” Math said, “there’s no need.”

  Anna walked to him and reached up to clasp her hands around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “We’ve talked about this before,” she said. “I’m not a glass doll. I’m not broken.”

  “You tell me this, Anna,” Math said, “and I know it’s true. But I don’t feel it.”

  “There will be another baby,” Anna said. “I was only nineteen last week. I realize that many girls here have three children by my age, but I’m not worried. It’s only the old busybodies in the solar who look at my belly and wonder why I haven’t yet given you a son.”

  “Part of me would choose for you to never give me one, rather than lose another in the same fashion. I can handle anything but your tears, Anna.”

  It was Math, in fact, who’d kept better track of the days and had known Anna was pregnant before she did. Even though she’d assumed a child was inevitable, the responsibility for it had brought her to her knees at first. But then as the weeks progressed, she’d accepted it, and then embraced the growing life inside her as a natural result of the love between her and Math. When the pregnancy, which had lasted all of fourteen weeks, had ended three weeks ago, Anna had sobbed through many days, desolated, while Math had stood by, helpless.

  In truth, Anna had needed her mother, but as always, she was in another world and too far away to help. The dream of her was fading now. If Anna focused, she could recall the black abyss and the sense of despair, both of which were very familiar, though she thought she’d conquered her fear of them in the past year. But she couldn’t control her dreams and perhaps the miscarriage had brought those feelings bubbling to the surface again.

  Math’s request to court her had caught Anna completely by surprise. She and David had discussed Papa ‘marrying her off’ when they’d first arrived in Wales, but Anna hadn’t seriously considered it again. She’d thought it ridiculous, really, not only because she was only seventeen, but because she wasn’t Welsh, because she was from the future, and because telling Math about who they were and where they were from meant she’d have to commit to this life as the only one she was going to get.

  As the months passed, Math was persistent in his attentions, and heaven help her, Anna grew to like him—more than like him. She began to miss him when he was off somewhere with David, patrolling the border or fighting the English, and found herself atop the battlements, waiting for a sign of his return. Math was upright and straightforward, honest and trustworthy, a knight in the truest sense of the word. And whenever he looked at Anna, it was with a thoughtful expression, intens
e and gentle at the same time—as if he saw something in her that was special, and perhaps special only to him.

  Finally, it was David who’d intervened, understanding what was going on as only he could. So they’d sat Math down and told him the truth, and he’d shaken his head at Anna, not because he didn’t believe that she was from the future, but because she’d been silly to think something like that would make him change his mind about her. Anna had long since changed her mind about him.

  “If you help me get dressed, I won’t have to wake Nell,” Anna said. Her maid slept on the floor in the women’s chamber. Nobody there would want to be awakened at five in the morning. Anna didn’t like needing a maid at all, but she couldn’t do all of the laces up the back of her dress by herself. Anna pushed open the shutter to see what the day looked like. After the heavy rain of the night before, the sky was clear, though more clouds hovered on the western horizon.

  With Math’s help, Anna got into her clothes, twisted her hair onto the top of her head, and pinned it. Not exactly a ‘lady of the manor’ look, but they were going to the beach and she could clean up better when they returned.

  David was waiting for them in the courtyard, Taranis already saddled. Math boosted Anna onto Dyfi, and then mounted Mael. As always when traveling with David, a dozen other men-at-arms came with them. Even a morning stroll on the beach could turn into something malevolent if English were about and Papa insisted David not take unnecessary chances.

  “Hey, Anna,” David said. “What’s up?”

  Anna smiled back at him, loving the familiar greeting, though it didn’t quite have the same ring to it in Welsh.