Ashes of Time (The After Cilmeri Series)

by Sarah Woodbury

  David didn’t have time to press William further and hoisted himself into the saddle. Two minutes later, the company was moving. It was half a mile from the spot where they’d hidden themselves to the top of the valley where David’s father would emerge, and to David it felt like he’d hardly settled himself into the saddle before the roar of hundreds of men’s voices split the air.

  “Madog’s men are charging!” William’s voice went high with the same excitement and fear that was inflicting everyone.

  David made a guttural sound deep in his throat. “And hopefully Ieuan and Dad are too.” But he couldn’t tell from here.

  Justin pulled his horse up beside David, eyebrows raised.

  David nodded. Justin was his captain. It was his job to command the men.

  All Justin had to do was look back at the riders and jerk his head once in the direction he wanted everyone to go, and they were off.

  The company surged down the hill into the valley. The fog still hovered close to the ground, but with the coming of the day it was thinning, and there was enough light to see by—at least to prevent the men from driving their horses into the river by mistake. At a gallop, a horse can cover half a mile in two minutes, and they were the longest two minutes of David’s life before his horse came around a hillock, the slope gave way to a flat field, and he could see the battle before him.

  The only good thing about Dad’s position had been that the river flowed from high to low, as rivers do, so that he’d been descending out of the gap when Madog’s forces charged into his. The two armies—if one could call Dad’s numbers an army—had met at a low spot in a farmer’s field on which only stubby November grass grew.

  A man to David’s right screamed in pain, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder. More arrows rained among David’s company, hitting men and horses alike. But they were charging, and David disciplined his mind to focus on what was ahead of him and not that his men were falling around him. Or that he might fall too. A second rain of arrows came, indicating that Madog’s bowmen were getting into a good rhythm, but the third barrage came haphazardly. And then the arrows ceased to come at all.

  There was no point in glancing up the hill to see what was happening, not if David hoped to live through the next few minutes. But he spared a thought for Ieuan’s bowmen, who must have found, if belatedly, good ground from which to shoot. It could only be they who were keeping Madog’s bowmen occupied with themselves instead of David’s men.

  Justin had pulled a little ahead of David and was the first to reach the rear of Madog’s force. The spearmen were pressing forward, taking on not only Dad’s cavalry but Ieuan’s footmen, who had surged from the path along the draw that ran between where Madog’s men had waited and where Dad’s company had emerged. None of the foot soldiers on either side were in what one might call a uniform, but everyone on David’s side wore a red kerchief, either tied around necks or upper arms. Madog’s men wore a plain linen band.

  Madog’s men were less organized than Dad’s. Good.

  The armies met in the chaos that accompanies any battle once the two sides are joined. It was only toy army men who deployed in squares and lines. As David swung his sword into the back of a man who’d been late to turn at his approach, he banished all thoughts from his mind but the necessity of staying on his horse and not dying. David’s company had completely surprised the men at the back of Madog’s army. Their focus had been forward towards Dad’s cavalry, who’d ridden into the valley from the north, and Ieuan’s spearmen, who had formed up on the slope above the field to the northeast and were fighting behind their tall shields.

  Madog’s men fell before David’s riders, as footmen almost always fall before cavalry, no matter the unevenness of the numbers.

  Overall, Dad’s forces were far fewer—Madog could have had up to fifteen hundred men on foot alone—but if every one of David’s horsemen still in the saddle managed to take on a single footman and win, those casualties would be enough to make the rest of Madog’s men turn and run.

  David had divided his cavalry into thirds, each with a leader. David’s contingent followed him up the middle of the field. He’d been keeping an eye out for his father all the while he was fighting, and it took another minute and three more deaths for David to find him. Dad was still seated and had three of his own men hemming him in and preventing more than one of Madog’s men at a time from reaching him.

  Whatever Dad might say, war was a young man’s game. David spurred his horse towards him. Another third of David’s men had driven through Madog’s ranks to the west along the river and had managed to circle all the way around the enemy force and link up with Dad’s company.

  It looked like Dad’s men had been holding their own too; victory was possible. David was sure, in fact, that his side was winning, right up until he fought his way to Dad’s side and turned to look back the way he’d come. At David’s arrival, Dad’s guard pushed outward, creating a small pocket of space for the two men to confer.

  Dad grunted a greeting. “Where’s their cavalry?”

  David had been so focused on what he had to do that he hadn’t registered the giant missing piece of the puzzle. “Could Madog have left them at Harlech?”

  “Unlikely,” Dad said. “That’s not what the scouts reported.”

  David stood in his stirrups, his eyes sweeping over the field. The fog had thinned some more, such that visibility was a hundred yards instead of twenty. No horsemen appeared. It was surely too much to hope for that Madog had already gone down, but David didn’t see him either.

  Slightly panicked at what could be a major miscalculation on their part, David raised his sword above his head, calling his men to regroup around him. Most of them had swept through Madog’s lines and turned to face back the way they’d come like David had. Ieuan was doing a good job of holding his own on the hill. Madog’s spearmen had fallen back to regroup too. David needed his men to head back through them. They needed to win this now.

  But as it turned out, there was no now. At the moment David tasted the possibility of victory, a horn call echoed from the southern end of the field.

  Madog had come.

  David’s only comfort was that Madog had left his charge a little late. Instead of riding into the rear of David’s cavalry, which was now forming a line ten men deep at the northern end of the field, facing south, Madog’s own spearmen were between him and them. Madog’s spearman had noticed this problem too. Most of them scrambled to get out of the way, not towards Ieuan’s spearmen, who held their position on the hill, but west towards the river.

  David’s sword went into the air. He stood in his stirrups and lifted his voice to his men. “Forward!” Then he pointed his sword at the opposing cavalry, which had started to materialize out of the fog. Though Madog didn’t have more horseman than David did, his men and horses were fresh.

  David sat back in the saddle, dug in his heels, and urged his horse into a trot. He slashed at the heads and shoulders of the spearmen who were foolish enough to stand their ground or slow in getting out of the way. Dad’s guard had formed up around him to David’s left, though Dad would never allow them to ride into Madog’s force in front of him. Like David, he wore his shield on his left arm and held the reins loosely in his left hand, though he was mostly instructing his horse with his knees. Cadwallon rode on Dad’s right to protect his unshielded side.

  Justin rode to David’s right, and David could hear him cursing steadily, something about condemning Madog, the fog, and all Welsh traitors to hell. But then Dad raised his hand, and the line slowed. Still eighty yards away, Madog had risen to stand in his stirrups and had ripped off his helmet. Even from this distance, David could see the slash of a grin that split his face. He whipped the helmet around in a circle above his head, calling his men to action, and then tamped it back down on his head. Back in the saddle, he looked straight at Dad and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Do you surrender, Llywelyn? You must know that you cannot win!”


  Calling David’s father ‘Llywelyn’ was an insult, of course. He was the King of Wales, a fact which Madog was plainly telling him that he didn’t acknowledge.

  Madog was working from a position of strength. He had the greater numbers. Out of the corner of David’s eye, he could see Madog’s spearmen gathering themselves by the river, prepared to renew the fight they had thought lost. The cold feeling that had sat in David’s stomach since the scout had spoken of David’s lack of luck turned to solid ice.

  David swallowed hard. Their plan had failed. What Bevyn would say about the disaster when he heard about it didn’t bear thinking about.

  “Fight or run,” Dad said.

  “We can’t run,” David said. “If we run, all of Ieuan’s men will die. And after that, Madog will chase those who survive all the way to Aber.”

  Dad nodded. “Then we fight.”

  David ripped off his helmet, as Madog had done a moment ago, but David tossed his aside so his men could see his face and take courage from his defiance. Then he stabbed his sword above his head. “Cymry!”

  From the hillside to David’s left, Ieuan’s men heard his call. Whether or not they understood the bravado behind it—and the desperation—they roared their approval. David spurred his horse, riding towards Madog as fast as his horse would carry him and outstripping Dad within twenty yards.

  Without hesitation, the men followed David down the center of the field, and if they questioned his choice of fighting instead of running, they didn’t show it. David could tell where Madog was by the white plume on his helmet. Shouts and calls came from behind. Except for Justin and Samuel, coming up on the far right, David was getting ahead of his men.

  But he had formed a plan. It might be a crazy, foolish plan, but cutting off the head of the snake might be their only chance to win this battle. David had seen the reckless look in his father’s eye a moment ago, and David thought that Dad had seen this one chance too. He might say David was more valuable than he was, but David was younger and stronger. This fight belonged to him.

  “I’m counting on you to watch my back, Justin. You know what to do. We’ve practiced this many times.” David sheathed his sword.

  “My lord! What are you doing?”

  “What I must.” David didn’t spare Justin another glance. Madog was only twenty yards away now and bearing down on David as fast as David was racing for him.

  “My lord, but—”

  David headed his horse to Madog’s right, which wasn’t the usual way of doing things in the Middle Ages. As David intended, it caused a momentary hesitation in Madog’s horse. Instead of David’s sword clashing with Madog’s, David bashed his shield into Madog’s shield and used his greater size and strength to drive Madog’s shield down and away. More than that, as David’s left arm swept downward, he launched himself at Madog.

  David hadn’t played football in years—and hadn’t liked it much when he did play—but he’d rehearsed this move with a practice dummy and his own guard so often he’d dreamt about it. David’s chest hit Madog’s left shoulder and upper arm. Letting go of his shield, he wrapped his arms around Madog’s shoulders, and they fell together off the other side of Madog’s horse. Madog’s right side hit the ground with a horrible crunch, and he lost his grip on his sword.

  The fall knocked the wind out of David and did worse to Madog. As Madog lay momentarily stunned, David scrambled to his feet, pulled his sword from its sheath, and kicked Madog’s sword out of range of his groping hand. It would have been expedient at that point for David to turn Madog onto his back like a turtle and drive his sword through Madog’s heart, but the rules of warfare were such that David couldn’t kill him when he was down. They were knights after all. He had to give Madog a chance to surrender.

  As David had fallen on Madog, the front lines of the two forces had met with an awful crash. Though David was only peripherally aware of anyone but Madog, he could tell that Justin and the men of his immediate guard were doing their jobs, circling around the pair and allowing David to take on Madog without fear of being attacked from behind.

  David did not take chivalry so far as to give Madog back his sword, however, and Madog moaned and struggled to rise. He got first to his knees and then to his feet. His helmet was askew, and he tugged it off, revealing a mop of black curly hair, soaked with sweat and pressed to his head. David pointed his sword at him, not willing to give Madog any more time to think. “Do you surrender?”

  Madog gave a mocking laugh, weaving on his feet. Dad was right that he was short and thin—not a soldier by nature, David guessed, but someone who’d taken on that role out of pride and necessity. David could understand it, even if he couldn’t condone its manifestation here.

  “Tell your men to stand down,” David said.

  “And if I do, what then?” Madog said.

  “This war will end here, and you will receive justice according to the laws of this land,” David said.

  Fighting continued in other parts of the field, but the soldiers in the vicinity—both David’s and Madog’s—had stepped back from each other in order to watch the exchange. That was a medieval tradition too: to have the two lords who led their troops fight one another in single combat to determine the outcome of the war. In fact, David had counted on it.

  “Like it ended with Valence?” Madog choked on his own laughter. “Where I dangle by the neck at the end of a long rope?”

  “It is you who brought this rebellion on us, Madog,” David said. “You don’t have the right now to set the terms of your own surrender. But I will give you the same terms I gave Valence: a trial before a jury of your peers—”

  A horn call rang out from the southern end of the field, the same direction from which Madog’s call had come. It was the third call of the day and the sweetest sound David had ever heard.

  “Math!” He shouted the name to the skies.

  Justin laughed, and Carew called from David’s right. “God favors us, my lord!”

  Math must have marched through the night from Dolwyddelan, taking the mountain paths between ridges that only local Welshmen would know, to arrive here at this moment. Madog’s men were now caught between them.

  David directed his gaze again to Madog, knowing he was gloating and unable to stop himself. Madog looked away for a second, eyeing the men around him—and then he threw himself at David, a blade pulled from his boot flashing in his hand. David’s shield arm came up to block the knife, and with a thrust, he skewered Madog through the gut with his sword.

  As Bevyn had taught him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  November 2019

  Anna

  Cassie hurried Meg and Anna back out through the maze of corridors. They were more heavily burdened than before. Cassie and Anna each carried a backpack over her shoulder, and this time Cassie and Mom held the giant, bulging duffel bag between them.

  “How far to the coffee shop?” Anna said.

  “A few blocks,” Cassie said. “We have to go the long way around, though, because we want to avoid surveillance cameras.” She glanced over at Anna. “Don’t worry, Callum and I planned ahead.”

  “Clearly,” Mom said.

  Cassie led them through a stairwell, and they came out on a different street than the one they’d come in on. “I don’t know if I can explain what it’s been like, being left behind.” She walked rapidly across the cobbled road and entered another doorway on the other side.

  “You don’t have to, Cassie,” Mom said, “I know all about it.”

  “I guess you would.” Cassie took a left and then a right through another maze of buildings.

  “When David was born, Mom did everything she could to get back to Dad,” Anna said. “She couldn’t.”

  “Your mom’s life was never in mortal danger,” Cassie said.

  “True,” Mom said, “but I’m not so sure how this would have worked if it had been. David was still a baby. He wasn’t ready.”

  “We saved Dad’s life at Cilmeri,”
Anna said, “but if you had brought us back sooner, Dad wouldn’t have gone at all.”

  Mom’s expression turned brittle. “Now that I couldn’t promise you. The man is stubborn.”

  Cassie’s lips twitched in a quick smile before she took the lead again. “I think I need to explain anyway.”

  Anna certainly wasn’t going to stop her.

  “Callum and I had to make plans because we didn’t know how soon you would return, and we wanted to be ready when you did.”

  “That explains the safe house and all the rest,” Mom said.

  “Exactly,” Cassie said.

  “Is that why you two haven’t—?” Anna stopped. She’d been about to ask one of the most personal questions possible.

  Cassie made a ‘hm’ sound. “Were you going to ask if that’s why we haven’t had kids yet?”

  They’d crossed another street and passed through several basements before taking a set of stairs back up to street level. A wooden door blocked the way.

  Before she opened it, Cassie leaned against it. “This isn’t the Middle Ages, Anna. Waiting two years is nothing here. But yes.”

  Anna was still catching her breath, but she ducked her head in acknowledgement of that sacrifice. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to mention it to Callum.” Cassie looked from Anna to Mom. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Mom said.

  Cassie opened the door, and the three women stepped out onto another cobbled street. Callum and Darren stood two feet away to the right, half-hidden underneath a large green awning.

  “Hey,” Cassie said.

  “Hey yourself.” Callum took the duffel from Cassie and slung it over his shoulder. It clashed with the proper look of his suit, tie, and trench coat. He was bigger than any of the women were, though, and he hadn’t exactly let his hard won medieval physique run to fat. “Any trouble?”