Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance (30 page)

I looked south, to the sea I couldn’t see
from where I sat, and pictured Clare’s castle on its hill
overlooking the Severn Estuary. “I have neither the men nor the
inclination for a long siege. We came to teach Clare a lesson. I’ll
give Gruffydd my support until July, and then I must return north.
I have a woman and child to see to.”

“Best wishes on his birth, my lord,” Bevyn
said.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll be counting on
you to teach him as he grows.”

Bevyn’s eyes brightened. “It’ll be my
pleasure, my lord. It surely will.”

* * * * *

“Damn the man!” I said as I burst through
the door into the kitchen garden. “Why can’t he be
predictable?”

“What is it?” Meg sat against one wall,
soaking up the last heat of the mid-October day. We’d had rain
every day for a week, and the bright sunlight that spilled through
the branches above her head was very welcome. Her hand rested
comfortingly on her belly, while Anna sang from the other side of a
bush as she dug in the dirt with her little shovel. I came to a
halt and drank her in. Since Caerphilly, I’d been more absent than
not, seeing to my lands and marshalling every man I could to my
side. But for the first time in my life, I resented my
responsibilities.

“It’s Clare again. Apparently our meeting a
month ago wasn’t enough. Now he wants to meet me south of
here.”

“Where?”

“The old Roman road follows the Usk to the
standing stone at Bwlch. Remote.”

“I thought you’d resolved your dispute for
now?” she asked. “I thought you agreed that you would rule the
north of Senghennydd and he would control the south and wouldn’t
build further on his castle at Caerphilly.”

“That’s what I thought too.”

“So what changed?”

“I don’t know.” I sat, stretched out my legs
to their full length, and crossed my ankles, leaning back against
the garden wall.

“What do you think he wants?”

“He wants me out of Senghennydd,” I said.
“It’s that simple. Barring that, he wants to start building his
castle at Caerphilly again. What I wonder is to whom he has spoken
in the weeks since Tudur hammered out the latest agreement. Why
does he need to see me face to face?”

“There hasn’t been any fighting, has
there?”

“Not that I know of. I would have thought
that Gruffydd would have sent me word if there had.”

“If he were free to do so,” Meg said.

I turned my head to look at her. “You have a
point. And before you say it, I can see a trap opening between my
feet too.”

“I’m afraid to say it at all,” I said. “You
need to meet him in person? You just saw him at Castell Dinas; and
your emissaries will meet again in the new year. Why this meeting?
Why now?”

“Because he wants it resolved sooner and
requests me, face to face, to hammer out our differences.”

“Is that usual?”

I shrugged. “I’ve met King Henry at the Ford
of Montgomery. I would meet Edward, if need be. I can speak to
Clare again.”

“Okay, I’ll say it,” Meg said.
“Cilmeri.”

“It’s a long time from now,” I said. “I’ve
no reason to believe Clare treacherous.”

Meg pursed her lips. “Send Clare a letter
and say you’ve urgent business in the north and wish to proceed
with the arbitration as planned.”

“He would know I wasn’t telling the
truth.”

“Would he? Why? And why does it matter? You
rule in Wales and can do as you please.”

“I wish it were that simple. I do have the
right to defend my lands and have done so against the Marcher
lords, but everything I do has consequences.” I studied her. “You
recall that Bohun says Mortimer hates me?”

“I do,” Meg said. “I also recall that he
tried to take Brecon from you—and kill you—not long ago.”

“And failed on both counts,” I said. “Do you
think his ire has faded? Can you see how his failure this year
might fester within him such that fourteen years from now his sons
lure me to Cilmeri and kill me?”

“Gilbert de Clare is not Roger
Mortimer.”

“But he could be,” I said, “given time.
Besides, this wasn’t the first time I’ve defeated Mortimer. I’ve
decimated his army
twice
. The first time was in 1262 at
Cenfylls, and the second was only two years ago when he marched on
Brecon and we stopped him at the ford, just to the northeast of the
castle. The man has reason for a grudge.”

“And if you can avoid making Clare into
another Mortimer, it is worth the effort,” Meg said.

“Yes,” I said. “That is it exactly.”

“How far is it? Can I come?”

I looked at her for a heartbeat and a half.
“Meg.”

“All right, all right,” she said. “You don’t
need to tell me why I shouldn’t.”

“It’s day’s ride. No more. I’ve a castle
close by and we’ll make our base there before our meeting with
Clare.”

“Why Bwlch?”

“Clare’s new mistress, since his marriage to
Alice de Lusignan ended last year, is a Picard of Tretower Castle,
located only a few miles away.”

“That’s just great,” Meg said. “And what
happened to his first wife? I thought you couldn’t get a divorce in
England.”

I smiled. “I think he’s going for an
annulment, which might be hard to prove given that they have two
daughters. You do have to pay a lot for it, and convince the Pope
of your utter sincerity—though the fact that she has had a
relationship with Prince Edward for many years may eventually aid
Clare’s cause.”

Meg stared at me, aghast. She shook her
head. “I don’t understand that.”

“That’s not surprising,” I said, “since
nobody else does either. But as you may have observed, when a
Prince wants something, he tends to get it.”

“I had noticed that.” She wrapped her arms
around her belly as the baby kicked again.

“Don’t be like that,” I said. I put my arm
across her shoulders and pulled her in to kiss her. “Am I really
such an ogre?”

“I just don’t want you to go away again, not
so close to the baby’s birth. I hate worrying about you.”

“I’ll take extra precautions,” I said.
“There will be no Cilmeri at Bwlch. Don’t worry.”

L
lywelyn left with
a host of men-at-arms and I tried not to worry, as he asked. I had
other things to occupy my mind. I hadn’t told him before he left,
but I was having some contractions, every now and then. It was
nothing serious, but similar to what had happened with Anna when
I’d had contractions for three solid weeks before her birth. They
would go on and on, reaching a crescendo toward early evening, only
to die down around bedtime. Then they’d start over the next day at
nine in the morning. Not fun.

And today was Halloween (though they didn’t
call it that—it was All Hallow’s Eve), the day before All Saints
Day. The celebrations were already beginning in the village, where
the weekly fair was in full swing. I held Anna’s hand as we walked
across the drawbridge and down the road to the market square. It
had rained in the night, but not so much that the road was muddy.
Little puddles pocked the road, and I tugged Anna away from them,
not wanting her to get wet on the way there
.
I’d let her get
wet on the walk home and then change her clothes.

Normally, as Llywelyn’s woman, I rode into
the village, even for the short distance from the castle to the
market, but at nearly nine months pregnant, I wasn’t allowed near a
horse, much less on top of one. Beside us, two of Llywelyn’s
men-at-arms walked —Bevyn again, undoubtedly irritated at being
left to mind me, though Llywelyn had tried to appease him by
implying that this was a grave responsibility and he’d better not
screw it up, and Rhodri, the young man who’d befriended Anna at the
Gap, a lifetime ago now.

To understand what a medieval village fair
was like, you first had to do away with anything you’d ever learned
from movies, and particularly, focus not on what things looked
like, but how they
smelled
. I’d gotten used to it in large
part, but the sensitivities of early pregnancy had reasserted
themselves at this late stage and I had to close my nose as I
entered the village. The smell was a nauseating concoction of
frying food, tanning leather, smoke, urine, decomposing organic
matter of every variety, and manure.

The village was closely compacted due to the
town wall that surrounded it. This protected it, but it also
contained it and made the townsfolk ‘in-fill’ rather than spread
their houses out as was more usual in Welsh communities. Very
often, villages in Wales consisted only a few huts in which an
extended family lived: uncles and aunts, grandparents, cousins, and
various distant relations.

At the most, these were in groups of five or
six; the family worked together communally in the fields or in the
raising of sheep, goats, and cattle. Many Welsh were also nomadic,
splitting their time between the pastures of the lowlands in the
winter, and the mountain meadows in the summer. The market fair,
then, was an exciting event for everybody, and because of the
imminent holiday, the Brecon fair had brought in revelers from
miles around.

Anna swung between Rhodri and me. We lifted
her over a particularly noxious clod of refuse. He and I exchanged
a glance of understanding, and he swung her onto his hip.

“Let’s see what trouble we can get into,
shall we?” he said to her.

She smiled and touched a finger to his
burgeoning mustache. Fashions were changing in Wales and more and
more of the men sporting them. I hoped Llywelyn would refrain from
growing one, but Bevyn looked at Rhodri with something bordering on
envy. I wanted to tell him that he’d grow up—and acquire the
ability to grow one—

soon enough.

Rhodri and Anna stopped at a display of
finger whistles. The proprietor took one out and handed it to her—a
classic tactic which meant that if I didn’t pay for it, I would
either have an irate seller or a crying daughter. Sighing, I opened
my purse. Bevyn leaned in, took out an appropriate amount, and
began to bargain with the man. He and Rhodri had evidently decided,
as had been the case in the past, that they still didn’t trust my
Welsh enough to allow me to bargain all by myself. They were
probably right. Anna’s Welsh was coming along so well she might do
better than I.

The stalls circled the village green and
lined the road on both sides into the village. Players had set up
their tent in the middle of the green—I wondered what we’d get this
time. All Hallow’s Eve, so far, was showing itself
not
to be
my favorite holiday in Wales. I didn’t like all the ghosts and
witch talk, especially if any of that talk was going to be directed
at
me
, and I wasn’t sure that some of it hadn’t been.

“
Did you hear she knew about the ambush
at Coedwig Gap before it happened?”

“
Did you know that only she and the
Prince were spared when the entire castle was poisoned?”

“
Had you heard that she can
read?”

“Don’t you worry, my lady,” Bevyn said,
gesturing to the costumes and strange decorations. “No one will
harm you today.”

“Why is that, Bevyn?” I asked. “Because they
think I’m a witch and will cast a spell on them?”

“Not at all!” Bevyn said. “Where did you get
that idea? Nobody’s saying that!”

“I’m sorry, Bevyn,” I said. “I must have
misunderstood some of the gossip I overheard.”

“It’s true that you confuse people, but
you’ve brought nothing but luck to the Prince. And now you will
give him a son!”

Oh don’t say that! What if it’s a girl?

Then he put his hand on my arm, and the
boyish exuberance was gone. “Your lord will be fine. Gilbert de
Clare is a knight. His father was a force to be reckoned with in
the Marche and he will not betray that memory.”

“I don’t know about that, Bevyn,” I said.
“That’s probably why he’s so belligerent. He feels like he has
large boots to fill and he’s worried he won’t be able to.”

“It’s every son’s fear,” Bevyn said.

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“It’s right before you,” Bevyn said, and he
didn’t have to gesture towards my belly for me to know what he
meant. “Every man is haunted by his father’s expectations—it’s a
jumble of hatred, fear, loyalty, and love.”

“I loved my father,” I said.

Bevyn snorted. “You’re a girl. It’s
different with you.”

I was offended, but I also thought he was
wrong and told him so. “It’s different but not as much as you
think. It isn’t that he expected me to ever fight a battle, or lord
my authority over anyone, but he had expectations for me that I
failed to live up to, even as I knew my failure would sadden him.”
I glanced at Bevyn, not sure he was capable of understanding.

“I would like to see Anna grown,” Bevyn
said. “I’d like to know that she’s like you.”

“And this child,” I said, resting a hand on
my stomach.

“Your son is going to be a great man. He’ll
put us all to shame.”

“He’ll have to learn Latin,” I said. “Poor
boy.”

Bevyn grinned.

We passed several huts whose occupants had
left out pitchers of drink and plates of food to distract and
satisfy the dead, so they wouldn’t bother the living. I hoped Bevyn
was right. Maybe I’d misunderstood the glances and stares—that they
were admiring, rather than fearful.

With the Christian Church overtaking Wales,
Halloween was becoming incorporated into All Saints’ Day, a day set
aside to honor all the Saints in the Christian calendar. Quite
frankly, I was dreading having to sit in church for half the day
tomorrow and was already planning my escape, pleading an antsy Anna
or the onset of labor, even if it wasn’t true.

The drama the players had begun in the
center of the green was one I’d seen before, depicting the life of
St. David, the patron Saint of Wales. As he was conceived through
the rape of a nun, and the players embellished his life with rather
dramatic exorcisms of various exotic creatures, it was definitely
rated R and I pulled Anna away before she could see more than a
minute of it. She was only three, but the masks they wore were
scary even for me.