Champions of Time (The After Cilmeri Series, #13)

by Sarah Woodbury

  3 April 1294

  Lili

  Lili left Morgan’s men gathered behind the mountain, along with the archers from Gwynedd who had, in fact, arrived first. Even Humphrey’s pride didn’t extend so far as to countenance a journey that would end with their horses blown. They would be useless in battle for days if they’d done that. A stream ran behind the hill, and the men and horses were freely watering themselves from it. If the plan was to attack, they had some hours yet to rest.

  “Has anyone seen Christopher and Matha?” Lili asked the commanders. They’d gathered in the draw on the hillside to hide their light and numbers.

  Most shook their heads and looked troubled, but Huw said, “If I know anything about Christopher at all, my lady, I know he can take care of himself.”

  Callum stood twenty feet above her with a pair of binoculars, gazing through them towards the castle. He had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the war conference, which, with the arrival of the Scot forces, had commenced in earnest. While he could see the castle from where he stood, she could not.

  Now, he put out a hand. “Give me a moment, if you will. I’m trying to count. Ieuan, get up here and tell me if I’m seeing things.”

  It was an odd request, but Ieuan didn’t hesitate, and Lili clambered up the rise as well. At first Lili couldn’t figure out what they were looking at, and then she saw the flickering torch. The wind wasn’t blowing hard enough to make it go on and off like that, and then she realized what she was seeing was being done on purpose.

  “Someone write down what I say,” Callum said.

  Robbie hastened to find paper and pen, and Callum started reciting, “Dash, dot, dot, dot, pause, dash, dot, dash, dash, dot ...” The dots and dashes went on and on, and though Lili knew their intent, she had never learned Morse Code. When the dashes and dots started repeating themselves, Callum stopped speaking and had Robbie recite exactly what he’d written.

  Then Robbie scrambled up the hill to show Callum the paper. But Callum didn’t need to read it, since Humphrey de Bohun had worked it out in his head: “B moving tomorrow. Attack tonight. Cavalry. Arrows. Cymerau. Rohan. KDVD.” He stared at Lili.

  James gave a rueful shake of his head. “Christopher really deserves the title Hero of Westminster.”

  “He does, but the message isn’t from Christopher.” Callum slid down the slope, hastening towards one of the lanterns that had been kept low to the ground so its light couldn’t be seen beyond a short distance. He grabbed it along with a shield and took it with him up the mountain, dragging Robbie Bruce along with him. “Hold it high, son.”

  Robbie obeyed, and Lili found herself riveted by Callum’s next antics, because he held the shield over the light, much in the same way the person on the wall-walk of Skipton must have been doing.

  Dot-dot-dot-dash-dot.

  Understood. Lili knew that much Morse Code. Callum quickly returned the lantern to the draw, not wanting to give away their position more than he already had. Then he put his finger on the paper at the word Cymerau. “What does he mean by that?” He moved his finger to Rohan. “Or that?”

  Lili could recite that story of Cymerau in her sleep, but so it seemed could Humphrey. “Cymerau was a great victory over English forces by King Llywelyn back when I was a child. He barraged them with arrows and then defeated them on the field of battle afterwards. I don’t know the other word.”

  “Nor I.” Lili looked at her brother, who shrugged.

  “It’s from the Lord of the Rings, Callum. Where have you been?” Mark chuckled and turned to Lili. “The riders of Rohan are responsible for one of the most famous cavalry charges in the history of cavalry charges.”

  James was still stuck on who was sending them the message. “What do you mean it isn’t Christopher on that battlement?”

  Lili found her hands trembling slightly. “It means he made it home, doesn’t it?”

  Callum’s face was pale in the lantern light. “I think so. But if we’re right, he’s fallen right in the middle of it again.”

  “And is William with him?” Humphrey said.

  “What are you talking about? Who sent us that message?” James stepped closer.

  “KDVD, James. King Dafydd. It’s Dafydd on that battlement.” Emotion choked Lili’s throat, so her words could come out only as a whisper.

  James’s head swung towards the castle, though they were back in the draw, and he couldn’t see it from here.

  Lili put out a hand to him. “Your army started moving as soon as the sun set, yes?”

  James nodded. “As Callum encouraged.”

  “How long until they could reach the Eller Beck?”

  “Less than two hours from when they left.”

  Lili heart beat a little faster. “We must do this the Welsh way, then, as Dafydd just suggested.”

  James’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly do you mean by that, and why am I thinking that it might be synonymous with something dishonorable?”

  “Is winning dishonorable? Is saving the lives of thousands of men dishonorable?” Lili asked.

  “No,” James said shortly.

  Lili nodded. “As we already planned, your men can corral Balliol’s army from the north and east, while we attack from the south.”

  Humphrey frowned. “With only five hundred riders, our casualties will be high.”

  Callum gave a jerk of his head. “Even if we were to wait for the men we have coming in order to better match their five thousand, both sides would lose far too many good men, and there remains the possibility that we could be flanked. I’d rather not leave these things to chance. It is the archers who will make the difference.”

  Lili nodded. “Our arrows will mow down their army like a scythe through ripe hay.”

  James gave her a jerky nod too. “Believe me, I know. I saw it at Tara. But they shouldn’t do it from any place that can be reached by Balliol’s men. Since we don’t have enough men here to defend them, we need to get them across the Eller Beck, to my men.”

  Ieuan put a hand on Lili’s shoulder. “You can shoot forever with a river between you and your target.”

  Lili was pleased that her brother assumed she would be among the archers. She had fought before, and while she didn’t like it, she was determined to help.

  “My lady, are we absolutely certain that David is in that castle?” Humphrey looked intently at her, and she realized that he knew about her sight and wanted her to speak from it. She hadn’t felt that spirit move since Dafydd had fallen from the battlement with the King of France, however, so she gave a little shake of her head. “As certain as I can be without asking him, which I dare not do. Even the short response we gave him made this spot on the hill a target for the men in the field.”

  Ieuan motioned with his hand above his head. “Let’s move, friends.” He took Lili’s arm. “Are you ready for this?”

  “You must like asking me that. It’ll be like when we were children.”

  “When we hunted Humphrey de Bohun in the woods?” He swallowed down a laugh. “You can think that if it helps.”

  She glanced towards the man himself, who walked a few paces ahead on the narrow trail. “Have you ever told him about those days?”

  Ieuan shook his head.

  She laughed. “I think you should. All of us have come a long way since then.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  3 April 1294

  David

  “It’s probably time for us to leave.” David put down the binoculars. There had been no further response from the hill, and he hadn’t expected any. Bad enough that they’d responded at all, but he was glad they’d done so. The future of England looked a lot rosier than it had fifteen minutes ago.

  Christopher stared at David. “We can’t! What’s the point of you arriving inside Skipton Castle if we’re just going to flee it an hour later?”

  David narrowed his eyes at his cousin. “Are you thinking that maybe we should be opening the front gate to our men, neve
r mind the five thousand men camped between us and them? Or even more dramatically, that I should confront Balliol in his hall?”

  From the uncertain look on Christopher’s face, David could tell that this was exactly what he’d thought.

  He respected his cousin enough—and all of the young men with him—to explain why he couldn’t do either. “Balliol wants me dead. That’s all that matters to him. If I appear in his hall with the three of you, he’s going to cut me down where I stand, and all of this will have been for nothing. Imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t escaped from Trim Castle when I did. We would have lost everything.”

  “Maybe we would have at Trim,” Christopher stepped closer, “but Skipton is different. You’re not in Ireland anymore, and as it turns out, the only reason most of Balliol’s men support him is because they believe you are dead. If you were to appear in their midst, how many of them would be willing to murder their king in cold blood?”

  “All it takes is one, Christopher,” William said.

  “Okay, I’ll give you that, but you will have more than just us behind you,” Christopher said. “You’ll have the garrison of Skipton, for starters.”

  David frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve had a whole day to explore, and Thomas and Henri a day more than that. The members of the garrison that resisted—about twenty of them—are being held beneath our feet, in fairly awful conditions, I might add.”

  Thomas nodded. “The rest of the garrison chose expediency over loyalty, but it’s likely they would also be glad to see you. And that’s only to start.”

  “The town is with you too, including the mayor in whose house we’re staying. But even more important than that, if there’s a battle, the townspeople are completely unprotected.” Christopher’s voice went up an octave and a few decibels in his urgency.

  Open battle was one thing, civilian casualties were quite another. David folded his arms across his chest as he studied his companions. “To stay would be insane. The expedient thing to do would be to get out now, while we can, and find our army.” He sighed. “But you are right that I can’t leave the people to die, and Balliol is unlikely to lift a finger to help them.”

  “I knew you’d say that once you understood,” Christopher said.

  David scoffed. “Where’s my elder statesman to tell me not to listen to you three?”

  Christopher pointed. “He’s out there, obviously, starting a war. It has to be Callum who responded, because who else understands Morse Code?”

  “My father, for one,” William said.

  David turned to look into the distance, making up his mind, because really there wasn’t anything to decide. Things got easy really quickly when he put the people he served first. “All right. You guys know the terrain. What needs to happen next?”

  “We need to find the mayor and tell him to get his people inside the castle,” Christopher said.

  “And we need to free the garrison and retake the castle,” Thomas said. “We’ll need the king for that.”

  Christopher frowned. “The townspeople need to see David to believe he’s alive. He has to come with me.”

  Thomas shook his head vigorously. “We can’t risk him being shut out of the castle. Besides, few here know what he looks like, especially dressed as a common soldier. You and Matha know the people. You can do this.”

  David watched the exchange with interest. They’d grown up while he hadn’t been looking.

  Then Matha appeared at the top of the stairs, and as David turned to look at him, he almost fell back down them. “Sire!” He went down on one knee. “Henri and I saw lights on this tower, and he sent me to investigate.”

  “He’s gone back into the keep?” David asked sharply, right before dragging Matha to his feet and hugging him.

  “Yes.” The word came out strangled.

  David had been squeezing him hard, and he stepped back and put a hand to his own chest, realizing that he’d been distracted from his pain. “I wish he hadn’t done that.” He looked at Thomas. “While Matha and Christopher roust the townspeople and William and I free the garrison and take the outer gatehouse, you need to get Henri out of there. He cannot be in that hall when the fighting starts.”

  William frowned. “He could be our spy if he stays.”

  David’s jaw was set. “I will bring the keep down on their heads before I negotiate with Balliol. This has gone too far and cost too much.” He pressed his lips together for a moment. “We need to evacuate the servants too.”

  “Leave that to me.” Thomas sketched a bow. “It is good to see you, sire.” Then he left without explaining what he was going to do, which, on the whole, David decided he didn’t need him to. These boys had become grown men, and he could leave them to it.

  Christopher and Matha set off at a quick walk for the town, Christopher regaling Matha as they left the events of the last hour, and David and William moved determinedly across the outer bailey to the dungeon tower. Nobody questioned them, and David hadn’t expected anyone to. The main gate was open, allowing free passage in and out of the castle. There were too many men from too many different lordships to account for everyone. Their heads were already at tomorrow’s march and not thinking about infiltration by a few men. As William had said back in Avalon, turnabout’s fair play.

  Once at the tower entrance, David turned to William. “Let me handle this. I believe you can fight left-handed, but we haven’t tried it yet, so let’s take it slow.”

  “What’s the plan?” William said.

  “Disarm, recruit, kill only if I have to. These are my subjects, even if they are on the wrong side in this war. That’s why I asked Thomas to get the servants out. None of this is their doing.” David took in a breath to settle himself. This exact moment was the reason he trained harder now that he was king than he ever had when he was younger.

  Lili had commented that he had filled out in the last few years. He guessed some of that filler might be fat, but at twenty-five, he could run farther, hit harder, and move more agilely than at any other time in his life—even with a bruised chest.

  He went through the door with his axe in his right hand and his knife in his left. When the door banged back against the inner wall, William, who was right behind him, caught it with the flat of his hand to stop it from rebounding. By then, David was already three feet into the room, and neither guard had time to pull his knife from its sheath. Both men appeared to be in their early thirties, and they wore the colors of John Hastings, whose wife was a Valence. No surprise he was here.

  William closed the door, and the four of them looked at each other for a few heartbeats, David assessing and the guards gaping at him, their hands on the hilts of their swords but not pulling them out.

  David decided to go straight to the point. “Your choice is simple. Put up your hands and live. Fight me and die.”

  “There are two of us and only one of you.” The nearest guard, who was wearing leather armor, sneered in the direction of William’s sling, which was more noticeable now that it was white instead of black.

  David’s gestured with his axe. The weapon was unfamiliar, but it was weighted well, and he resisted the arrogant temptation to flip it in the air like he might have done a tennis racket or a baseball bat. “I defeated King Edward in single combat when I was only sixteen. Are you sure you want to take me on?”

  The guard’s sneer didn’t leave his face, but he appeared to hesitate for a moment, processing what David had just said. Then both guards moved at the same time.

  But David had moved a half-second before them, slashing the axe downwards from right to left across the chest of the guard on the right. David’s arm kept moving to the left, and his next blow slashed horizontal, digging into the second soldier’s thighs. He’d been taught long ago that the best way to defeat an enemy was to aim for his limbs. Once he was on the ground, he was vulnerable to be finished off.

  In this case, the first man fell to his knees, and William,
who’d followed closely behind David as if they’d rehearsed this, kicked out with a booted foot to put him down beside his friend, who was moaning in pain on the floor. Neither was actively dying, but they were disabled. William took the key to the dungeon from the wall.

  David held out a hand for it while looking down at the wounded men. “How many guards patrol this tower?”

  The guard with the thigh wounds pressed his lips together, refusing to answer, but the other replied immediately. “There are two more on the wall-walk. We are due for a shift change in an hour.”

  David nodded at William. “Kill them if they so much as move.” Grabbing a torch from a sconce, he went down the stairs himself, alone. The steps ended at a wrought iron gate, through which two dozen faces looked back at him with wide eyes. They were crammed into a space that should have been for storage only, with no ventilation or natural light, not that there would have been any at this hour of the night.

  He held up the key. “My understanding is that you are here because you didn’t support Balliol’s takeover of the castle. Am I wrong?”

  “You are correct, my lord,” one of the men in the very front said. He had a full beard, and his hair was unkempt.

  “Tell me your name.”

  The man cleared his throat. “Bernard, my lord.”

  “Where’s your captain?”

  “Here, sir.” A young boy’s voice piped up from near the back, and the men in front shifted so David could see to whom he was referring. “He’s wounded in the leg.”

  David lifted his torch higher in order to see the man lying flat on the stones of the dungeon. He had a bloody bandage tied around his leg just above the knee. The man lifted his head to look at David. “Gilbert de Stanford, at your service. May I ask your name?”

  David grinned. “You may ask.” He thrust the key into the lock and opened the door. “Everybody out. I am reenlisting you into the service of King David.”

  The men accepted his offer with alacrity, filing upstairs, and even after their incarceration, many managed to take the steps two at a time. The last two made a chair with clasped fingers for their captain. The stairs were very narrow, but they managed to shuffle sideways to the top. David followed last, and by the time he arrived in the guardroom, it was clear that William had filled the garrison members in on who he was, because as he turned into the room, all but the captain, who couldn’t, went down on one knee.