“Maybe I shouldn’t have come on so strong,” Cassie said. “I keep seeing David with that hood over his head.”
Callum rocked forward. “Not at all! What you said was brilliant. I think it made all the difference, and I truly enjoyed the look on Smythe’s face as you set him down.”
“Why was he promoted?” Cassie said.
“Rumor has it that he has connections on high,” Callum said. “I don’t doubt it now. Interested parties means politics and money.”
“So … what do we do next?” Cassie said, looking around the room.
Before Callum could answer Cassie’s question, Driscoll opened the door. As before, he paused, running a hand through his hair and staring past them out the windows set in the opposite wall. Several other men hovered in the corridor behind him, but he closed the door in their faces.
As he did so, Callum’s phone vibrated with an incoming text. He clicked on it and saw it was from Lady Jane:
Don’t trust Driscoll. Don’t trust anyone.
Callum stared at his phone and then up at Driscoll, who slapped the leather tablet he’d been carrying on the table and plopped himself into one of the vacant chairs opposite Cassie and Callum. “David really believes it.”
“Believes what?” Callum hastily closed the message and dropped his phone into his suit pocket.
“That he’s the King of England.”
“He is the King of England,” Cassie said, “in 1289.”
Driscoll threw up his hands and then dropped them onto the conference table. In yet another gesture of despair or capitulation, he slouched further in his chair.
Callum leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “Lady Jane seems to have no problem believing us. Why do you?”
“Honestly, Callum. It can’t be true.”
“Then what’s your explanation for all this?” Callum said.
“I don’t have one!”
Callum and Cassie exchanged a glance, and then Cassie put a hand on Driscoll’s arm. “Imagine how I felt when I arrived in that Scottish woods when a second before I’d been in Oregon. It’s hard to accept, but everything becomes easier once you do.”
“That’s what my parents told me about belief in God,” Driscoll said. “What do you want me to say? That I believe you have spent the last ten months living in the Middle Ages? It’s a fairy tale.”
“I have spent the last ten months living in the Middle Ages,” Callum said. “Whether or not you believe it doesn’t make it less true.”
Cassie tapped her fingers on the table, watching Driscoll. “Let’s put the truth of what we say aside for the moment. Lady Jane said that we were to stay at MI-5 for now, since we’re homeless. That’s all very well and good, but it seems to me that nobody is quite sure what to do with us. You left the door unlocked, and you aren’t holding us. Yet somehow, I get the feeling that security isn’t going to let us walk out the front door either.”
“We have nothing to hold you on, and Callum is one of us,” Driscoll said. “Lady Jane has made that abundantly clear. You are being reinstated.”
“That’s what she said to me too,” Callum said, not sharing what she’d said afterwards—or her text. “Has she said anything to you about what that entails?”
Driscoll pursed his lips. “That I don’t know. Not head of Cardiff station, not right away.”
“I gather Natasha has been running things since I left,” Callum said.
“She has done a credible job,” Driscoll said. “She hasn’t put a foot wrong. I find it likely that Lady Jane will transfer you somewhere else, rather than transfer or demote her.”
“Why would Lady Jane do that?” Cassie said. “Callum is a wealth of information about the Middle Ages. If they want to continue this project, they need him.”
“They have David,” Driscoll said, “and Callum is too close to this. Removing him is standard procedure. It’s why he hasn’t been asked to join the interrogation.”
Cassie mouthed the word interrogation and scowled.
“So they do question my loyalty,” Callum said.
Driscoll shrugged. “It’s going to take time to know where anyone stands.”
Cassie pushed up from the table. “I need to call my grandfather.”
“That can be arranged,” Driscoll said, “but it’s just seven in the morning there. Do you want to wake him up?”
“He’ll be up,” Cassie said. “And if he’s not, he would want to be woken.”
Driscoll nodded. He went to the door, spoke to someone beyond it, and then waved a hand to Cassie.
Callum stood too. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“I’ll be all right.” Cassie squeezed his hand and left the room.
Callum let her go. He didn’t want to be naïve about all this, but he hoped this wasn’t an opportunity to separate Cassie from him. So much still didn’t add up.
Don’t trust Driscoll. Don’t trust anyone.
Driscoll returned to his chair, wrinkling his nose as he sat. Callum wanted to laugh. He guessed that Driscoll remained three seats away because Callum smelled as he always did—of salt and sweat—but to Driscoll, he would smell a little ripe. Callum had grown accustomed to living without modern perfumes and deodorants, but it wasn’t as if he’d showered that morning either.
“What’s happening with David, exactly?”
Driscoll coughed. “So far he’s asked for fish and chips, a computer, and to speak to someone at the CDC.”
“And what has he told you?” Callum said.
“That he’s the bloody King of England!” Driscoll said. “You were on a ship bound for Ireland, chasing a lord named Valence, when you were hit by a storm and boom! you’re here. It’s exactly what you wrote in your report.”
“Have you hauled the cog out of the water yet?” Callum said.
Driscoll chewed on his lower lip. “We’re working on it. Our researchers from the university want to know where we found a medieval cog, and we’re not answering.”
“That was quick work,” Callum said. “In fact, everything has happened too quickly. How is Lady Jane even here?”
“She arrived last night for the annual review of our office,” Driscoll said. “That you came today is viewed by her as manna from heaven. Smythe has been walking around with a stupid grin plastered on his face, annoying everyone by telling us how pleased Lady Jane is with his performance.”
“His performance?” Callum said.
“The show of force at the dock was his doing,” Driscoll said, “sanctioned by those higher up.”
“Who?” Callum said.
“I don’t know.”
“Naturally,” Callum said sourly. “What’s next, then?”
“The wheels of bureaucracy can move fast when they choose to,” Driscoll said. “Lady Jane has been in contact with the DG and the Home Office. Likely, David will be transported to London by this evening.”
Callum tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. Driscoll leaned across the table towards him and lowered his voice. “Listen, Callum. The higher-ups—” He broke off and looked furtively around the room.
“Are we being recorded?” Callum said.
The conference room was one that in the past had been a work space for Security Service agents, not a place where they kept suspects or those under interrogation, even peripherally. Come to think on it, this was the room in which they’d last gathered before going after Meg and Llywelyn at Chepstow Castle. The wall screen was black, and the conference table was new. It disturbed Callum slightly that it had taken him this long to notice where he was.
“No,” Driscoll said, “not here. But Callum, they are going to want to know some things. They’re going to want to use David.”
“What do you mean use him?” Callum said.
“You need to start thinking like a politician. Certain people—important and powerful people—see this as an enormous opportunity.”
“An opportunity for what?” Callum said.
“
If we can find a way to use whatever is inside David to send men back and forth to the past at will, think of the knowledge to be gained! Not to mention the access to resources that have grown scarce on our planet. Think about it: precious metals! Untapped oil reserves! This isn’t a few quid we’re talking about. To the Home Office, it could be a matter of billions of pounds.”
Callum’s mouth fell open. Cassie had been right. They should have run.
Chapter Nine
September, 1289
Anna
Anna couldn’t decide which concerned her more—that Valence had landed a fleet of ships at Portsmouth, or that she and Bronwen were suddenly expected to produce a magic potion that would heal all wounds—for that was the gossip her maid was hearing in the corridors. The witchcraft trials hadn’t yet overtaken Britain, but superstition and ignorance underlay suspicion of anything different or new, and Anna and her family had rightfully always feared it.
For now, she was faced with saying goodbye to her husband, who had a war on his hands, the parameters of which they didn’t yet know. “When do you leave?” Anna said.
“I ride out within the hour,” Math said. “William de Bohun volunteered to ride to London with twenty men to gather reinforcements between here and there. He, Ieuan, and Edmund Mortimer have already left. If Valence marches this way, we will have the men to defend Windsor. Don’t worry.”
Anna took a deep breath and eased Bran, who had fallen asleep, from her breast. She lay him on the bed beside her. He was her third son, but only the second living, since she and Math had lost little Llelo at six months old to a measles epidemic when Cadell was three. Now at nearly four, Cadell had already had measles, an easy bout of scarlet fever at the start of the current epidemic, and chicken pox. Mumps, rubella, whooping cough, and a host of other diseases awaited him in the next few years. If he could survive them, if he could reach the age of ten, he had a good chance of living into his fifties. Provided he didn’t die of the other major cause of death for men: war.
Such was the reality of the medieval world, and the older Anna grew, the more she wondered if choosing this life had been the right decision. And then she looked from Bran to Math and knew why she had chosen it, and knew that if she could travel back in time again to her earlier self, even knowing what she knew now, she would make the same choices all over again.
“Why have you given Ieuan overall command?” Anna said.
The corners of Math’s mouth turned down as he looked at her. “You object that we’ve elevated him thus?”
“Not at all!” Anna allowed herself a burst of laughter before her fear reasserted itself. “I just can’t believe Edmund or Carew gave way. Ieuan is a Welshman, and while his English and French are improving, he is not one of them.”
“Ieuan has stood at Dafydd’s side since he and Bronwen arrived at King’s Langley before Arthur’s birth,” Math said. “He has familiarized himself with the full extent of Dafydd’s forces in London and the surrounding area, far more so than any other lord barring Dafydd himself. These barons all have their own men and estates to see to. It is Ieuan who has trained Dafydd’s standing army, and we all agreed that it should be he who leads them.”
“I didn’t even know David had a standing army. Papa doesn’t.” Given Anna’s occasional disbelief that she was really living in the Middle Ages, the fact that her baby brother was the King of England had been known to stymie her completely. She supposed that for him to have a standing army was small potatoes compared to that.
“King Llywelyn doesn’t have anyone to war with these days,” Math said. “It’s not as if England or the barons in the March are going to be raiding his lands any time soon.”
“He has defenses—” Anna said, defending her father.
Math came forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m not criticizing Llywelyn. God knows I’m grateful that the wars with England are over, along with the constant skirmishes along the border. All I’m saying is that Dafydd does not have that luxury. He has had to think several moves ahead, if not the whole chess match. Unfortunately, he miscalculated in thinking that Valence would stay in Ireland.
Anna accepted her husband’s explanation, no longer offended. “Just be grateful that he had the foresight to insist that Callum was the only one among the close family to accompany him. That said, do we have enough men to defeat Valence?”
“The scouts report that two thousand men landed at Portsmouth. We can only pray that this is Valence’s only force. We hope that his goal for now is to carve out a place for himself in the southwest while Clare and Dafydd are away. Then he can begin to woo the other barons to his side,” Math said.
“I suppose he’ll promise them the usual: land and money under his dispensation,” Anna said. “How many takers might he have?”
Math shrugged. “Edmund would know that better than I. A few, certainly. I’d like to defeat him before any of the wavering decide to take Valence up on his offer, believing he can give them more than Dafydd has or can.”
“David has tried—”
“Again, I’m not criticizing your brother,” Math said. “He has taken the long view, as well he should and as only he can, but he has been none too gentle with some of the barons he views as particularly stubborn or arrogant. They’ve taken offense. Valence speaks their language better than Dafydd does.”
“David’s French is fine,” Anna said.
Math laughed and gently rubbed Anna’s arm. “I’m not speaking of his fluency, cariad.”
Anna had known that, actually, but she still found herself angry on David’s behalf with all those Normans who were backing into the future instead of turning around and running towards it. “What are we going to do about it?”
“At this point, I can do nothing but go to war,” Math said. “These barons wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”
“Their wives might listen to me, though,” Anna said. “I know that David would have to approve any promises, but would it hurt to identify those who are wavering and sweeten the pot for them? The crown of England has more resources at its disposal than Valence.”
“Bribe them, you mean?” Math said. “Don’t you have enough on your hands with the baby, Cadell, and this penicillin problem?”
“We have twenty scholars working hard, and Bronwen knows what she’s doing,” Anna said.
“What are you suggesting?”
“I could at least find out who might be wavering and what might encourage them to stand firm a while longer, long enough for you to take care of Valence’s army.”
“Will their husbands listen, though?” Math said.
“Do you listen to me?” Anna said.
Math looked affronted. “Of course.”
“The longer I’ve spent with noblewomen, the more I’ve come to realize that they are no more content, most of them, with doing as they’re told than I am,” Anna said. “Some have empty heads, it’s true, and too many haven’t been educated or haven’t read enough beyond the Bible to have the proper knowledge to think with. But when pressed, or shown evidence, they can think. And none of us like seeing our sons die.”
As Anna had grown more animated, Math had moved closer. He put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her gently. “Okay. I’m convinced. But you take care. Far worse would be to push one of these would-be traitors into Valence’s arms.”
“I’ll be careful, though it’s you who need to hear that more.” Anna leaned into her husband. He wrapped his arms around her, and they held on until a low knock came at the door.
“That’s for me.” Math kissed Anna one more time and then went to the door.
“Say goodbye to Cadell before you go,” Anna said.
“Where is he?”
“I arranged for him to ‘help’ in the kitchen while I put Bran to sleep.”
Math laughed. “I’ll see to him.”
“I love you, Math,” Anna said.
He kissed his fingers and blew the kiss to her. “And I you.”
Bronwen came to stand at Anna’s shoulder. “Today is one of those days.”
“What do you mean?” Anna said.
Bronwen drew away from the door and leaned her back against the wall in the corridor. “Much of the time since Catrin’s birth, I’ve felt like my head is stuffed with cotton. I can’t see or think about anything further than a few feet around me. It’s like I’m wrapped in Styrofoam.”
“I hadn’t noticed anything wrong with you.” Anna squeezed her friend’s hand. “You’re a wonderful mother.”
“It’s not a lack of love for Catrin I’m feeling.” Bronwen rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “My love for her is as fierce as I can imagine love ever being, but I haven’t had space in my head for anything but getting through the day.”
“I can quote a parenting book at you, if you like,” Anna said. “Something about how easy it is to get in the habit of meeting everyone’s emotional needs but your own.”
“Do I need to ask why you were reading a parenting book at seventeen?” Bronwen laughed, and Anna was glad to see it. “I probably read that somewhere too—or at least, I’ve heard that from other mothers. A friend of mine who had a baby back in the old world told me that if she had four minutes by herself a day, just enough for a quick shower, she was lucky. And more often than not the baby would start crying while she was still soaking wet.”
“We can’t take showers.” Anna laughed now too, a hand to her mouth.
Bronwen smiled. “And we have nannies and maids and servants around every corner to fulfill any wish. We’re rich and privileged. More than one woman in the village at Buellt birthed ten children by the age of thirty-five and works from dawn to dusk with little help. I’m spoiled and I know it, and yet—”
Castaways in Time (The After Cilmeri Series) Page 9
