Crossroads in Time (The After Cilmeri Series)

by Sarah Woodbury

  He dismounted and took a water skin from the saddle bag. He took a sip and gestured with it towards the town. “We burned it, you know.”

  Lili dismounted too, stretching her back and legs. She’d ridden more in the last two days than in the previous two months. She brushed the wet hair from her face and looked where Dafydd pointed. Hay-on-Wye was a market town, associated with no castle, but fought over by the kings of Wales and England because of its location, ever since there was an England. Offa’s Dyke, the earthen fortification that followed the length of the Welsh border, ran just to the north and south of Hay. Once she and Dafydd crossed it, they’d be in England.

  Dafydd walked to the center of the road and stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the path ahead. “Where is that boy?” He turned around to look back the way they’d come. The wind blew into Lili’s face as she looked west too. She sat silent, watching Dafydd. Her horse whickered and Lili patted his neck.

  And then William came out of the trees to the north of the road, only ten yards from where Dafydd stood. He urged his horse to leap the ditch beside it before he noticed either of his pursuers. He pulled up, staring at Dafydd, mouth agape.

  Dafydd recovered first. “A fine chase you’ve led us on. Come here.”

  “No.” William’s horse danced sideways as he reined him in. Dafydd stood between him and England and Lili could see William eyeing the road to Hay, estimating what it would take to get past Dafydd without Dafydd stopping him. Lili tugged on her horse’s bridle to get him moving and used him to block the road as well.

  Dafydd took a step towards William, who remained on his horse. “This isn’t the way to rescue your father. Do you really want to ruin all his careful planning?”

  “He didn’t plan to be captured.”

  “No,” Dafydd said. “But he left you in my charge in case he was.”

  “Exactly,” William said. “Did you not tell me yesterday that I was your responsibility?”

  “I did.” Dafydd sighed. “Why do you think I came after you? But it is folly for me to be this close to England.”

  “My father needs me,” William said. “You would do everything in your power to rescue your father if his enemies had captured him.”

  Dafydd didn’t answer at first, because, of course, William was right. Then, Dafydd said, “I am not twelve.”

  “What difference does that make?” William said.

  “Are you a knight? Do you honestly think that you’re ready to face down grown men in battle?”

  William swept his sodden hair from his face. He was soaked through, just as Lili was. “I killed a man at Buellt.” Lili wondered from the catch in William’s voice if tears wouldn’t have shown on his face if the weather had been dry.

  Dafydd took in a long breath and let it out. “How do you hope to rescue your father from the Tower of London? Tell me your plan.”

  “I have been to London,” William said. “As you pointed out several times, I’m only a boy. No one will think twice about my presence if I disguise myself as a serving lad. I will bring my father a rope, and with it, he can let himself down from his window and escape.”

  Dafydd harrumphed. “Did you know that the old King Henry kept my grandfather in the Tower forty years ago? My grandmother brought him a rope and he tried exactly what you plan. The rope broke and he fell to his death.”

  That gave William a moment’s pause. “Something else, then.”

  “Nothing else, William,” Dafydd said. “Far better that you return with me to my father’s castle. If we win this war, I will speak to Clare and bargain for your father’s life.”

  William sneered. “Why should you? You would have your victory, then, and we would have nothing!”

  “Please, William. It’s raining.” Lili didn’t know what made her say that, but the skies had opened while they’d been talking and begun to pour down even harder than before.

  “No!” William prodded his horse’s sides and spurred towards Hay.

  Dafydd reached for William’s bridle as he went past him, but William swerved the horse away at the last instant and then raced past Lili too, who had no more luck than Dafydd in stopping him. Dafydd ran back to his horse and threw himself on his back. “Stay here, Lili. It’s too dangerous—”

  Lili gave him a disgusted glare. “You are safer with me than without me. You look more innocent with a woman in your party. We can pretend that William is my little brother and he’s run away. That’s why we’re chasing him.”

  Dafydd tsked his objection, but as when they’d ridden from Brecon, he didn’t do anything to stop her from coming with him. She was glad, now that they were heading into England, that she’d left her bow and quiver in the guardhouse at Brecon. It was an oversight, one that she’d been regretting during this journey, but her clothing was unusual enough without the addition of such a distinctive weapon.

  Together they raced their horses after William’s. At least the boy stayed on the road as it skirted the town walls to the south, rather than disappearing into Hay. In the open countryside, they had a chance to catch him. In the city, even a smallish one like Hay, he could hide and they would never find him.

  “You there!”

  Two men guarded the border crossing. Although the rain today wasn’t unusual, it had kept people inside and there was no other traffic. The guards had taken shelter under a lean-to. William lifted his hand to them, looked back to grin at Dafydd, and continued at a gallop the last twenty yards to where the men waited. Then, he reined in.

  “He’s going to get himself killed, and us with him,” Lili said.

  “Come on,” Dafydd said. “At least there are only two men-at-arms with whom we have to contend.”

  Lili’s heart beat hard in her ears. With that and the rain, she could barely hear her horse’s hooves on the muddy track as they trotted up to flank William as he waited on the road by the lean-to. Now that William had reached his objective, he sat silent in the face of the men’s questions.

  “I need your name, young lad.” The captain glanced at Dafydd, who responded to the man’s curious look by clapping a hand on William’s shoulder.

  “Please forgive my brother-in-law for his impatience,” Dafydd said. “We’re off home to Hereford.”

  “William got away from us.” Lili spoke English with a Welsh accent. Although she couldn’t disguise her Welshness, she assumed the guards knew that mixed marriages weren’t unusual in the border country.

  The captain laughed. “Boys do that sometimes. Just be glad you didn’t run into one of Prince Dafydd’s patrols. His men shoot first and ask questions later.”

  Lili was offended for Dafydd’s sake because she knew that wasn’t true. At the same time, their prejudice was hardly surprising. The Welsh had been at war with the Saxons (from whom these men descended), and then their Norman masters since William the Bastard conquered England in 1066. More than two hundred years of near constant hostilities had solidified the enmity. Dafydd had told her that seven hundred years later, in the time in which he had been born, many English still looked down upon the Welsh and thought the worst of them.

  But Dafydd grinned in agreement with the guard. “We hadn’t gone far inside Wales,” he said. “We were visiting my wife’s sister.”

  “Stay on our side of the border for the next few weeks.” With a touch to his forelock, the man waved them on.

  As they rode away, Lili said, “Was that an order?”

  “Sounded like it,” Dafydd said.

  Lili spurred her horse to bring it beside William’s. Now that he’d gotten Dafydd into England as he’d wanted, he was no longer trying to get away. “Do you realize how much trouble you’re in?” Lili said. “What if Dafydd had been dressed like the Prince of Wales he is? You could have gotten him killed!”

  “You didn’t have to follow me,” William said. “And besides, he never looks like a prince. My father told me.”

  “Your father has said a little too much,” Dafydd said.


  Chapter 13

  27 August 1288

  Brecon Castle

  Math

  Math paced the great hall at Brecon Castle, tugging at his hair with both hands. He was alone but for the King, who stared out the door of the castle, his arms folded across his chest. The rain continued to fall—for the first time in over a week—and the hard-packed earth had quickly become muddy. Even with the rain, the men were out in it, hoods up, making the last adjustments to their gear in the bailey of the castle. It would be a wet ride to Caerphilly, though the rain shouldn’t slow them down as the old Roman road they would take was still in good repair. Half of the foot soldiers would follow. The other half of those gathered had been sent to Monmouth in case the Normans chose to attack across the eastern border.

  “Why didn’t someone stop him?” Llywelyn said.

  “Someone should have,” Math said. “But the rain and poor sleep these last few days must have dulled the men’s thinking. Dafydd and Lili were on their horses and out the gate before anyone knew what was happening. The guard at the gate didn’t even report it right away, thinking that the three of them were riding to the encampment outside the walls. By the time I went looking for Dafydd and corralled the guard at the gate, they’d been gone for over an hour.”

  “They would have been close to England by then, if they rode quickly,” Llywelyn said.

  “Exactly,” Math said. “God only knows what that boy was thinking.”

  “God knows and we do too,” Llywelyn said. “He wants to rescue his father. Dafydd would have done the same for me, at his age.”

  Math scrubbed at his hair again. Llywelyn’s assessment was all too true. William was afraid for his father. In chasing after him, Dafydd had behaved almost as recklessly as the boy. When Math had discovered what Dafydd had done, his first thought had been that it wasn’t like Dafydd. After some reflection, however, he’d decided that perhaps it was exactly like Dafydd. He’d become like a caged bear these last months since Lili had rejected him. He might have followed William out of duty, but some part of him might even be enjoying his escape. Fortunately, Dafydd wasn’t a boy anymore. Math was confident he knew what he was doing.

  Math dropped his hands. “As it is, sire, I don’t see that we can help him. We have a war to fight. Prince Dafydd will have to take care of himself and Lili.”

  “And William,” Llywelyn said. “My son is capable.”

  “He’s more than capable,” Math said. “Until today, I wouldn’t have called him foolhardy, however. Perhaps we’ve kept him tied down too tightly these last few years. If we’d loosened our hold, even a little, he wouldn’t have needed to break down the gates.”

  Llywelyn turned on one heel to look at Math, whose face flushed.

  “I apologize, my lord.” Math bowed. “I did not intend to criticize your handling of him or your decisions.”

  Llywelyn shook his head. “No. You are right. Dafydd has not been himself these past months and that is my fault, at least in part.”

  “He loves Lili—”

  “And she him, from what I saw of them together. For my part, I told him last night that he could marry her,” Llywelyn said. “They have my blessing.”

  Math stared at his father-in-law. “But … Dafydd said nothing about that. Not to me.” He lifted his chin to gaze towards the high window in the hall that looked east, in the direction Dafydd and Lili had gone. “And when Lili came to me this morning, she gave no sign that he’d said anything to her …”

  Llywelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps Lili rejected him again?”

  Math’s brow furrowed as he thought. “I don’t think she did. He wasn’t ill-humored this morning, or at least not more than usual.”

  Llywelyn nodded. “He has ridden after the boy because he swore to protect him. That is all.”

  “He swore,” Math said, “but not at the cost of his own life. Not if the boy himself runs away to England on a fool’s errand to rescue his father.”

  “My son might not see it that way,” Llywelyn said.

  “He clearly didn’t,” Math said. “But even if Lili has thrown him over, he doesn’t have a death wish. He will do everything in his power to return to us if he can. And bring William and Lili back with him.”

  Llywelyn fell silent again, such that Math wondered if their conversation was over, even if the king hadn’t dismissed him. And then Llywelyn said, “He was dressed simply, as always.”

  Math nodded, though Llywelyn was facing away from him and couldn’t see him. “He was. And although his sword is fine, he sports no jewels. Dafydd has worked very hard to learn how to pass as an Englishman—or even as a Marcher Norman like William should the need arise.”

  “Does Lili speak English?” Llywelyn said.

  “Passably.” Math breathed in through his nose and let the breath out. He was feeling better about this escapade, even if part of him was sure he should be on his horse too, riding east to look for his brother-in-law, for Anna’s sake, if for no other reason. He missed his wife, but he was glad she wasn’t here. She would be worried sick about her brother. As it was, by the time she heard about it, Dafydd would be with them again and he could tell the tale before the fire for her amusement.

  Evan stepped through the front doors of the hall. King Llywelyn stood a few paces away with his arms folded and Evan hesitated as he looked from Math to his king. “Do we go, my lords?”

  “We go,” Llywelyn said.

  “I will spare two riders to inform the countryside to be on the lookout for the Prince,” Math said, “and to send word if any rumor of him surfaces. It’s something I’d hoped never to have to use my network for.”

  “And yet, for what better reason could you use it?” Llywelyn said.

  * * * * *

  The thirty miles to Caerphilly were some of the longest miles of Math’s life. How was he to tell Meg that her son was missing again? And in border country at that? Still, they reached Caerphilly before the sun was half-way down in the sky, having pushed the horses hard, and had to face what they dreaded. Math hoped that his father-in-law had thought of a way to talk to his wife so Math didn’t have to.

  Math and Llywelyn dismounted in the outer bailey. Of all the castles that Llywelyn had appropriated after the 1285 treaty with England, Caerphilly was the most magnificent. Gilbert de Clare had begun it back in 1268 and Llywelyn had attacked it in its early stages and destroyed it. He hadn’t had the wherewithal to prevent Clare from beginning it again, however. In its completed state, it consisted of dams, moats, massive earthworks, two concentric curtain walls, multiple halls, and towers. It had cost a fortune to build. No wonder Clare wanted it back.

  Math walked with Llywelyn to the main hall, though (coward that he was) Math hung back a bit. Meg was already halfway across the great hall when they entered it. “I missed you,” she said. “I’m so glad you’ve returned.” Llywelyn clasped her to him and then she moved on to hug Math. “How is my grandson?”

  “Sturdy and loud,” Math said.

  Their eyes met. Meg had suffered with them through Llelo’s death and Cadell’s bout with measles. The fear for his life wasn’t going to fade just because six months had passed since he’d recovered.

  Math himself had been a sickly child and Llywelyn had been among those who’d worried about him, afraid that he wouldn’t grow into a warrior. For a time, it seemed he was never going to be strong enough to wield a sword. When Llywelyn had taken custody of Math’s ten year old self after the death of Math’s father, Llywelyn had made noises about a possible career in the Church. To avoid such a fate, Math had worked harder than any of the squires at Aber, and had been saved by a growth spurt at sixteen. If he’d become a priest, he never would have met Anna. What price would he pay in the next life for that gift?

  “The messenger you sent arrived yesterday. If he hadn’t borne your seal, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Meg shook her head. “The child king dead and war on the coast. Why won’t the Normans leave us alone?”


  “Because they want our lands and all of them have been raised to believe they have a right to keep what they can take,” Llywelyn said. “We have much to do and very little time in which to do it.”

  “What the messenger didn’t say was who attacks us,” Meg said.

  “We’re not entirely sure,” Math said. “Humphrey de Bohun believed that his fellow regents, Vere and Kirby, were involved somehow, with Bigod, but exactly how many other barons support them isn’t yet clear.”

  “It’s the usual suspects, cariad,” Llywelyn said. “Clare, Mortimer …”

  “Mortimer!” Meg’s voice filled with disgust—and horror.

  “It pains me too,” Llywelyn said.

  “When will David arrive?” Meg peered over Math’s shoulder, looking towards the door to the hall. “I would have hoped he’d be with you, Math.”

  Math swallowed and Llywelyn stirred beside him. “He was delayed, my dear,” Llywelyn said.

  Meg’s eyes narrowed. “Delayed? That is a delicate choice of words that has sucked the warmth from the room. What are you not telling me? What has happened?”

  Llywelyn told her.

  Meg’s hand went to her throat, but she didn’t cry out or exclaim. She was Dafydd’s mother, after all. She knew of what he was capable. “And you’ve had no sign or word of him since?”

  Math closed his eyes. He’d rehearsed this scene the entire way from Brecon. “Humphrey de Bohun put his son in Dafydd’s charge. We spent only a few days in William’s company, but it is within his character to believe his duty was to rescue his father.”

  “All by himself,” Meg said.

  “Yes,” Math said.

  “And David went after him,” Meg said.

  “Lili went too,” Llywelyn said.

  Meg brushed a loose end of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “It is just like him to do this.” She turned on a heel to gaze into the fire. Not that she was seeing it.