“Nobody! I just thought—” he faltered.
Anna gestured to the now-empty screen. “What exactly does that have to do with me?”
Chad swallowed hard. “It was my understanding Ted had talked to you about how the past can help the present—how perhaps you can personally help the present.”
“He did a little.” Anna spread her hands wide. “I don’t get it. Nobody in this room can time travel except for me. And it isn’t even time travel, you realize. It’s a different world we go to.”
“That’s the great thing. If it were real time travel, everything we know about the way the world works would have to be thrown out, but it isn’t. It’s an alternate universe!” Like Ted earlier, Chad was practically jumping up and down. “Think of what we can learn from what you do!”
A headache was forming above Anna’s left eye. “What exactly are you proposing?”
Chad made a calming motion with his hand. “I know the circumstances under which your traveling happens. Your life has to be in danger. I’m not suggesting in any way that you should travel any more frequently than you already do, or do anything differently from what you’re doing now. All I’m suggesting is that instead of calling MI-5 or the CIA or your family—because you know their phones are tapped, right?—from now on when you arrive in this world, you call me.”
Anna stared at him. “That’s it?”
“That’s all I’m asking.” He handed her his card, which was plastic rather than made of paper, so it wouldn’t disintegrate in water. Thoughtful of him. The card had one word on it: Treadman, and two numbers, one for the UK and one for the U.S. He gestured towards the card. “Call me any time, day or night. Here, take a dozen.”
She studied him. “That’s really all you want?”
“Well, of course I want you to talk to me. And if you’re willing, to let me provide you with everything you need.” He glanced at Mark. “No more bargaining with MI-5, not that they appear to be interested in that anymore.”
Anna tapped the edge of the first card he’d given her on the table. “Why should I?”
“Because I can help!” Chad went up on his toes and came back down. He really did look like a fifteen-year-old excited about playing Dungeons & Dragons and reminded Anna of a much younger, less worldly, David. “Whatever you need: medicine, weapons, technology. I have it all, and I can get it to you anywhere on the planet, no questions asked.” He leaned in. “Have you considered what toll your traveling might be taking on your body at the cellular level? Are you exposed to radiation? Is there anything science can do to mitigate the effect?”
Anna stared at him, knowing that if David were here, he could speak Chad’s language, and he would know better than she if what he was saying made sense.
“Another thing—” Chad hastened to a different wall, which suddenly became a white board, “—have you considered you might not be the only ones this has happened to throughout history?” He turned to look at her. “Maybe, in fact, there are other people even now who are traveling as you are.”
“We’ve thought about that. MI-5 did too, but if so, they’re hiding better than we are.” Then she mumbled under her breath, “Way better.”
Meanwhile, Chad took out a marker and drew a long horizontal line on the board. This he labeled “Earth Zero” and put points on it like it was a number line, with arrows pointing infinitely in both directions. He labeled zero and put an extra tick at 1208 AD, a date which had no significance to Anna, and she wracked her brains for anything that had happened that year. David’s great-grandfather, Llywelyn Fawr, had been Prince of Wales, but beyond that, the date meant nothing to her.
Then Chad drew a branch, which he labeled “Earth One,” off the first line beginning at 480 AD. It went off at an angle, and it too had an additional mark, this one at 1996. Then he drew a third line, labeled “Earth Two”, as a branch off the Earth One line starting at 1268 AD. When he finished, he turned around and grinned.
Anna looked from Chad to the chart and back again and said in an even tone, “I have no idea what I’m seeing.”
“I do.” Before Chad could deflate completely, Mark rose to his feet and went to the board. “Our earth and your medieval earth are 728 years apart in time, yes?”
Anna nodded, though warily. She didn’t feel like admitting to anything before she knew what the end result would be.
Mark picked up a pen. “There have been lots of approaches to the concept of time travel, all of them fiction until you. First, there’s time travel where time is fluid and can be changed: you travel to a past which you can affect, and what you do there makes the present, once you return, different.”
“David always said that approach was wrong,” Anna said. “You shouldn’t be able to travel to the past in order to change the present because it was your personal past that made you go to the past, in which case, changing the past might eliminate your ability to time travel. If that makes any sense.”
“To us, it does.” Chad gave a little bow. “We agree. The only theory of time travel that makes logical sense is one where you travel to the past but can’t change it because time is a continuous loop. You always traveled to the past, so what you did in the past always happened. Time is a one massive pre-existing event.”
“David didn’t like that one either because it eliminates free will. In fact, I think those were his exact words,” Anna said, recalling that first conversation in the woods outside Cilmeri. She and David had been completely freaked out, made even more so when she realized they’d saved Papa’s life. Although Mom had assured them that Avalon hadn’t changed because of what they’d done, David’s additional journey with Ieuan in 1285 had proved it outright. It had been a relief to know they didn’t have the burden of all those lives on their shoulders.
Not to say they weren’t responsible for lives now, because they were, but at least there was no obligation to somehow preserve what they thought would be better off changed.
“Then there’s this theory.” Mark gestured to the board. “It says an alternate universe splits off from an earlier universe as the result of a catastrophic event, creating an entirely new timeline.”
Anna sat up straighter. “That’s what we have.”
“Some people even postulate that every decision a person makes creates an alternate universe where the person didn’t make that decision,” Uncle Ted added.
“But we’re not going there today.” Mark took up the explanation again. “In this case, Chad is postulating that Earth One—that’s us here—” he drew over Chad’s second line with a different colored marker, “—was created when someone in 1208 time-traveled to 480 AD, thus breaking off from the original timeline known as Earth Zero. Earth One’s timeline continued uninterrupted until your mother time-traveled in 1996 to 1268, creating a second timeline we’re calling Earth Two.”
“That’s my Middle Ages,” Anna said.
“Yes.” Chad nodded happily. “Your family has continued to travel back and forth between Earth One and Earth Two.”
Anna frowned. “What’s with Earth Zero then?”
Chad turned to look at his board. “I figured if it happened to your family it probably happened before. I didn’t want to imply that your time traveling was unique or the earth we’re in now, which you call Avalon, was the first earth and thus somehow original or more authentic.”
“Why 1208 and 480?”
“Like 1996 and 1268, they’re 728 years apart,” Mark said.
“Well … that’s not the only reason I chose those dates.” Chad’s expression grew sheepish. “It occurred to me that if the powers that be—” using the same turn of phrase as Elisa had used back at Callum’s flat, “—care so much about Wales, then maybe—” He paused again, clearly embarrassed.
“Maybe what?” Anna prompted.
Chad wrinkled his nose, still embarrassed but finally choosing to answer, “Maybe King Arthur was a time traveler too.”
Anna gaped at him. “King Arthur?”
“I know who King Arthur is,” Anna said patiently. “I’m not questioning his existence, though many do. I’m wondering about your logic.”
“King Arthur is a powerful story that has lasted nearly two thousand years. Do you ever wonder why that is? How many stories outside of religion have lasted that long?”
“Not many,” Ted said.
Anna assumed he’d heard this all before, and in that sense the question had been rhetorical.
“He’s also really hard to pin down. The historical sources are imprecise most of the time, but occasionally very specific. He defeated the Saxons for a generation—that we know—but he is surrounded in every story by magic.” Chad gestured to Mark. “Magic is simply unexplained technology, and what better way to explain what went on in the Dark Ages with Arthur than technology the people didn’t understand?”
Anna tipped her head. “If that’s what you’re going with, I would be more inclined to think the time traveler was Merlin, not Arthur, in which case your timeline would need to be adjusted.”
Chad gaped at her. And then he laughed and swung around to look at the white board. Hastily, he rubbed out 1208, changing it to 1188, and the earlier date to 460. Then he stepped back and studied it with a critical eye. “I don’t think that really changes anything.”
Anna leaned forward, getting into it now. “If you change the first date to 1170, that was the year King Owain Gwynedd died and his son, Madoc, set sail for the New World. Maybe he time traveled instead. And maybe the 728 years isn’t set in stone. The only important thing is what needs to happen.”
“Saving Wales from extinction.” Mark had retaken his seat, and was studying the board, his finger to his lip.
Chad scratched the top of his head. “Mark, I hope you know if MI-5 fires you, you have a job with me.” He glanced at Anna. “You too.”
Anna laughed. “I think you’ve made that clear.” Feeling a lot better, she bit into an Eccles cake. Sugar was an extremely rare commodity in medieval Europe, and her tongue luxuriated in the sweetness. It was too sweet for her now, really, but somehow she was going to eat this whole cake anyway. “Though whether or not this is even close to right isn’t something we’ll ever know.”
“Isn’t the need to explain the time traveling the reason David has accepted the mantle of Arthur?” Chad said.
“Partly. It started as a way to explain why he disappears.” She shifted in her seat. “We started out calling this world the Land of Madoc. How’s that for irony?”
Chad nodded. “And that’s also why you refer to this world as Avalon?”
Anna sighed. She still didn’t like the name, but it appeared she was stuck with it. “Yes.”
“See.” Chad looked inordinately pleased. “You were reaching for this idea and you didn’t know it.”
Her eyes still on the white board, Anna put one elbow on the table and her head in her hand. Her wrist hadn’t hurt for the last twenty minutes, so at the very least she could thank Chad for the distraction.
Uncle Ted rubbed her shoulder. “You okay?”
Chad was gazing at her with a hopeful expression.
Anna studied him, a large part of her wanting to give in, just so she didn’t disappoint him, but then she shook her head. “I don’t mean to offend you, but I need to say what I’m thinking: you’re the stereotypical evil genius. You’re incredibly rich, incredibly smart, and incredibly successful. When was the last time somebody told you no? What would you do if I did?”
Chad stuttered, “What-what do you mean?”
“Would you lock me up?”
His expression cleared. “Why would I do that? What purpose would it serve? You’re no good to me locked up! I want you free and doing your thing.”
Anna drew in a breath, trying to reconcile all that he’d said with her fears and her certainties.
Ted whispered in her ear, “As long as you get home, what’s the downside to being protected by Chad?”
She couldn’t think of a way Ted was wrong, and there was no doubt Chad’s castle was a haven right now. “Just so we’re clear, what exactly are you proposing? If I’m going to speak to David and Mom, I need it laid out plainly.”
Chad gave a sharp nod of his head, his enthusiasm giving way to the businessman Anna knew lurked inside. “As I said, when you arrive in Avalon, I want you to call me, nobody else. I will provide you with medical care, equipment, supplies—whatever you need.”
“And in return?” This was where the rubber hit the road.
“In return, you give me the same courtesy you gave MI-5. You allow my researchers to examine you, test your blood, pick your brains. I want to know everything about everything that’s happened to you, there, here, and in the transition.”
It was essentially what Anna had expected. “What do you get out of it? I don’t see a profit in this for you.”
“Not everything is about money.”
But when Anna narrowed her eyes at him, he shrugged. “The world is a complicated place. It may be that in working with you, we discover something that leads to other discoveries. If there’s money to be made, you will receive royalties for your part in it. Say the word, and we’ll draw up a contract.”
Ted stepped in again. “The moment you agree, there’s a trust fund ready to go, solely in your names. Even if you agree today, and then break off the agreement next week, the money will still be yours.”
This was not a decision to be made lightly, and Anna really didn’t want to make it without consulting her family, both medieval and modern. It wasn’t that they were beholden or overly dependent. It was rather that they were interdependent. They trusted and relied on one another other.
It was like somebody had poured a bucket of cold water of her head. Their unity gave them strength, and even though Anna’s family wasn’t physically beside her, they were with her in spirit. She would make the decision in her own time, on her own terms—and whether or not it ultimately turned out to be the right one, it was still her decision to make.
Chapter Twenty-one
19 March 1294
Math
In the late afternoon sunshine, Math and Ieuan, along with twenty men, collected their horses from where the beasts were cropping the grass in a field near the barn and set out. On the one hand, Math felt a huge sense of relief: they knew (they thought) where Anna was, and they knew for certain where the company had gone.
On the other hand, as Math had outlined to his men, any approach to FitzWalter was fraught with peril. Because Beeston Castle was afforded such views, secrecy was limited, which was why, in order for Math and Ieuan to leave without being seen, they’d had to ride south until they reached the main east-west road through this region of Cheshire. Following it west took them to Lyons Castle, Warenne’s seat.
It was also a significant relief that, with their problem starkly before them, they had Warenne as an ally. Beeston was not going to be an easy castle to take. It was built on a high rock for a reason, and regardless of what FitzWalter planned and who he was planning it with, they had to deal with him. Math didn’t see any way to do that without an army.
Keeping their approach to Beeston secret was hardly Math’s biggest problem either. With Dafydd in Ireland, Nicholas de Carew was receiving petitions at Westminster Castle, but London was many days’ ride away. As Welsh lords, Math and Ieuan had less trust from the English barons than Carew, though with Lili’s support and as Dafydd’s brothers-in-law, they were de facto regents of both England and Wales.
They could start a war if they wanted to. The real question was whether they could avoid one.
The ten-mile ride to Lyons took nearly two hours, in large part because the horses had been going all day already. By the time they came up the last rise before the castle, the sun had set behind the Welsh hills to the west. They also found the road teeming with men and horses, all milling around as if waiting for something. Or someone.
&
nbsp; As it turned out, they were waiting for Math himself.
“My lord!” An Englishman Math didn’t recognize ran towards them, his cloak billowing behind him.
The men in the road bore a dozen torches, allowing Math to do a quick accounting of their number, echoed a moment later by Ieuan. “I count twenty. I’d rather talk than fight or run.”
Math and Ieuan urged their horses a few yards down the sloping road to meet the Englishman.
“I apologize for the discourteous greeting, my lords,” he said. “I am Peter Beech, steward to Lord Warenne.”
“What has become of your predecessor?” Math asked.
Peter bent his head. “Of course you would know my father. He is ill.”
Math canted his head. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you, my lord. May I speak of my errand? I am here to assure you that Lord Warenne is at your disposal, along with his men and resources.”
Math surveyed the castle a quarter-mile distant. He’d kept his eye on Warenne over the years, but even when Warenne’s brother-in-law, William de Valence, had rebelled at the start of Dafydd’s reign, or his distant cousin, Fulk FitzWarin, had leagued with Red Comyn fifteen months ago, or Gilbert de Clare had risen in rebellion nine months ago, John de Warenne had stayed resolutely faithful.
“We were just riding to him,” Ieuan said. “We have much to talk about.”
Peter bowed. “Allow me to escort you, my lords.”
Math turned in the saddle and made quick disposition of his men. He sent three homewards to Dinas Bran, to tell Bevyn what they were facing at Beeston, what they’d done about it, and where they planned to spend the night. He directed a dozen to make camp right there alongside the road, to maintain a watch and intercept any of his own scouts who might come this far. And he kept the remaining five, plus Ieuan, with him. If Warenne chose this moment to rebel, to violate the laws not only of hospitality but of common sense, their twenty men wouldn’t be enough to stop him anyway.
Lyons Castle sat on a slight mound on the western bank of the River Dee. King Edward had built it initially as a defensive outpost against marauding Welsh. Then in 1282, though before Dafydd and Anna had come to Wales, he gave the castle to Warenne. In 1285, when Wales became a separate kingdom, Lyons Castle had been on the wrong side of the border between the two countries. Although the bulk of Warenne’s lands remained in England, he’d improved this stronghold at great expense, so he’d bent a knee to Llywelyn rather than give it up. Pentagonal, with five huge towers, a moat, and a gatehouse with three portcullises, it was easy to see why Warenne had thought long and hard about his loyalties and realized they were flexible.
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