Footsteps in Time (15 page)

It’s not uncommon in Wales to have an
early thaw after a month of hard winter. Within six hours, the
temperature had risen thirty degrees, rain began to fall, and snow
to melt. Edward’s advance slowed considerably. Having cleared the
path of trees to minimize ambush, the army was forced to march
through mud, all the while aware that the mountains, inside which
the Welsh remained safe, loomed above them.

Edward then found himself in an even
worse situation, because the rivers swelled with the rain and
melting snow. Within a day and a half of setting out from
Llansanffraid, his men were caught in a flood, the army stretched
out nearly the entire distance to Conwy Falls with no way to go
either forward or back. On one side was the Conwy River, preventing
their advance to Dolwyddelan Castle, and on the other side, half a
dozen other rivers, including the Clwyd, all in flood, blocking
their retreat to Rhuddlan.

And now they were going to have to
deal with the Welsh army. The men of Gwynedd were more than ready
to launch an attack on their cold, miserable enemy. It wasn’t the
soldiers’ fault they’d been born English and pressed into the
service of the English king. But David couldn’t afford to feel
sorry for them. If his men were truly to send Edward packing, they
would have to make him pay first.

“
It’s time, my lord,” Bevyn
said. “We must start the attack in a moment.”

David nodded and followed him to where
they’d staked the horses, well back in the trees. The English
soldiers had sent out scouts of course, many of them, but the Welsh
had ambushed and killed them all (they hoped) by an hour ago. Now
the soldiers at every campsite in the valley would be wondering
where their scouts were, and worrying.

David mounted Taranis and
pulled his sword from its sheath. The plan was simple. Llywelyn had
four hundred archers in the woods tonight, each with twenty
arrows—more than enough to kill, within three minutes of shooting,
every man that Edward had brought, though they’d never be that
lucky. What they could surely do was sow panic.

David’s company comprised
twenty-five mounted men and a dozen archers, hidden in the trees
and gullies on the other side of the hundred yards of cleared space
that separated the woods from the encampment. A hundred yards was
nothing to an archer, who could fire upwards of ten arrows a
minute. In one minute, the dozen archers could shoot seventy-two
arrows. But today they were aiming (quite literally) for accuracy,
and they were going to hold themselves to a steady six.

Bevyn and David decided to
give the archers two minutes to work, and then the cavalry would
charge out of the woods. They intended to cut a swath through the
English camp, turn around, and head back the way they’d come. They
did not mean to kill all the Englishmen, or to take prisoners, but
to disappear back into the woods, leaving a path of destruction in
their wake. Ideally, this same scenario would be taking place
simultaneously up and down the length of the Conwy Valley. There
were at least twenty companies the size of David’s, and many others
that were larger.

Father commanded a company further
north where the English encampments were more numerous and closer
together. There, the foot soldiers would be put to use, to run
screaming across the cleared space, hacking at anyone in their
path, and then retreating to the woods on the other side. The Welsh
would take casualties.

David’s mind shied away
from that thought, and perhaps it showed on his face, because Math
said, “All men must face the time when they see death coming. Each
must prepare himself for battle as he will. Some become angry, some
empty themselves of all emotion, some never conquer that fear and
fight afraid.”

“
What do you do?” David
said.

“
I hold an image of those I
love in the front of my mind and every slash of my sword is a blow
struck against those who stand between them and me.”

“
I’ve never been this
afraid,” David said. “I’m finding it hard to hold any thought at
all.”

“
Empty yourself of
everything but this moment, then,” Math said. “Give yourself up to
your senses. Acknowledge your fear, embrace it even, and you will
find you have power over it. Your Father told me that you should
meet him at his hunting lodge at Trefriw by noon. I intend to see
you do just that.”

David focused on his
breathing, as his sensei would have suggested.
In and out; in and out; become aware of everything around you,
the little noises of the forest, the rain, the stamping feet of the
horses, then close the sounds off so that there’s nothing but you
and your enemy; nothing between you and what you have to
do.

“
Fire!”
Bevyn commanded. The archers released their arrows which flashed
past in the gloomy dawn. David could barely see them, but despite
the rain, he could hear them, a rushing sound that ended with
screams from the English camp.
Press.
Loose. Press. Loose.
Again and again they
fired until those two long minutes passed and it was David’s turn
to fight.

His sword pointed forward as a signal
to his men, David spurred Taranis out of the woods. Math held
position on his right, as silent as David. Prince Llywelyn wanted
the soldiers to hear the hooves, but to have his men appear as
ghosts, descending on the English out of the murk.

The clearing sloped downwards as David
approached the camp and he crossed it in thirty seconds. The camp
was already in chaos from the arrows, with those men who could
stand fumbling uselessly for their weapons. David’s company hit
them head on, Taranis taking down one man with his hooves and David
slashing at a second man who failed to get out of the way. David
killed him, and then killed another.

Eighty English, a hundred
arrows, twenty-five horseman and there’s no one left
standing.

David swung Taranis
around, having come out the other side of the camp, his sword
bloody in his hand and sweat mixing with the rain and running into
his eyes. His men had destroyed the English camp. Bodies sprawled
on the ground everywhere, the same as in the clearing at Cilmeri
when Anna drove into it. Men screamed further downstream, hopefully
from other successful attacks, while men on the ground in front of
David moaned. And still unrelenting, came the
rattity-tat-tat
of rain on David’s
helmet.

David found Math, still aboard his
horse, Mael. Their eyes met and Math bowed his head. “My lord,” he
said.

David spun Taranis around. “Do we know
who’s down?”

“
Morgan and Rhys,” the
soldier nearest him said, “and one horse.”

“
You, you, and you,” David
pointed to three men whose names he couldn’t remember just now.
“Collect them and the horses that are loose.”

The men obeyed. Others rode or walked
from body to body, collecting weapons or kicking them out of
English hands that still clasped them. One of the men David had
pointed to slung a body over his shoulder while another helped him
boost it onto the back of a riderless horse. David watched, trying
to remember to breathe. Then he stood in his stirrups, his sword
raised high. “We will withdraw to the west,” he said. “We cross the
river at Llanrwst.”

Llanrwst had a usable ford, even with
water this high, and Father meant for everyone to regroup on the
west bank of the Conwy River. Although Father had been prepared to
defend it, Edward didn’t appear to know the location of this ford.
David settled in his saddle to wait for the company to reassemble.
Raindrops hit his mail links and careened off at odd angles. Math
dismounted to stand at his stirrup. He handed David a cloth. David
looked at it, uncertain as to what Math meant him to do with
it.

“
To clean your sword, my
lord,” Math said.

Oh.
Unlike when he’d killed the boar, David felt no
sense of jubilation, only a hollow thudding of his heart and a
relentless purpose.
Killed the English,
check; gathered our dead and wounded, check
. David wiped his sword, focusing hard on cleaning every last
speck of blood from the blade. “I feel a little sick,” he
said.

“
Not here, lad,” Bevyn
said, riding up to David. “We need to move now.”

David turned Taranis’ head. The ragged
band entered the woods and trotted silently south towards Llanrwst.
They’d gone a mile and were approaching the ford when another
company materialized in front of them.

“
Who goes there?” their
leader said, in classic movie-ese.

“
Prince Dafydd’s company,”
Bevyn said, “riding to Trefriw.”

“
All is well?” the man
stepped out from behind a tree, his sword loose in his
hand.

“
Our attack was
successful.” Bevyn tipped his head at David. “His father would not
have him late.”

“
My lord.” The man gave
way.

Several hundred men
jostled to get across the ford, more or less at the same time. Many
companies had completed their mission for the night, far more
quickly than Prince Llywelyn had hoped. Some had more casualties
than David’s company, some fewer. It was the foot soldiers who
might fare the worst.
And Father. Where is
he?

David rode through
the newly established camp at Trefriw and up to the entrance to his
father’s hunting lodge, dismounting amongst the bustle and
activity. Math grasped Taranis’ reins when David dropped them. The
rain still plunked on his helmet so he pulled it off and tossed it
to the ground. He never wanted to wear it again. Anna came down the
steps of the lodge, oblivious to the rain, the hem of her brown
dress dragging in the mud. Math made a gesture with his hands,
palms forward, as if to say to Anna
I’ve
delivered him, safe. The rest is up to you.

“
What are you doing here?”
David said. Both she and Heledd had recovered from their fevers,
but David didn’t want Anna to get wet and cold again.

“
David.” Anna held out her
arms and after a moment’s hesitation, David walked into them. He
buried his face in her hair and she wrapped her arms around his
waist. He squeezed her tight, trying to both contain and release
the emotion inside him. David thought he might even cry, but found
himself incapable. He loosened his hold on his sister and Anna
studied him, her hand to his cheek.

“
What can I do?” she said.
“You’re very pale, and a little green.”

“
Here, lad.” Bevyn had
been waiting behind David while he greeted Anna. “I’ve just the
spot.” He took David’s arm. David wanted to shake him off, but that
sounded like too much effort and he allowed Bevyn to lead him away.
Before they’d gone two steps, David bent over, his stomach
heaving.

Anna moved closer. David wanted to
stop her, but his stomach wouldn’t let him. “Are you all
right?”

“
Not yet.” Math
intercepted her. “But he will be, given time. As much as it’s
possible for any of us.”

“
It’s okay, Anna,” David
said. “I’ll come find you in a bit.”

Math tugged Anna away, back towards
the entrance to the lodge. “Come,” he said. “Let’s get you out of
the rain.”

* * * * *

Edward wasn’t a fool by any means. He
knew the Welsh wouldn’t just roll over and let him take their
country, but it had been a long time since he’d been attacked in
quite this fashion, and he’d never had quite as bad luck.
Twenty-five years before, at the battle of Cymerau, Prince
Llywelyn’s forces had soundly thrashed King Henry’s army, attacking
at dawn, showering his men with arrows, ensuring that they couldn’t
advance any further into Wales. The day after that, the same force
had met the English army on the open field and killed more than
three thousand of them.

It was summer, then, not
winter; in Deheubarth, not Gwynedd; but if the next twenty-five
years of losses had taught the Welsh anything, it was to not
underestimate the English. King Edward had rallied the men closest
to him and had attempted to repel the attack centered on his
encampment. Father was late getting to Trefriw because his had been
the contingent that had faced Edward. Father hadn’t won there,
losing perhaps an equal number of men to Edward, but he’d not lost
either and had retreated in good order, under cover of more
arrows.

Once the entire Welsh force
had crossed the Conwy River, Llywelyn had set about ensuring that
the English couldn’t advance any further south. He placed his
archers on the ridges along the west bank of the river and
instructed them to fire at will into the English camps. As before,
the English tried to regroup, but couldn’t move either forward or
back.

“
It’s
over,” Math said. “Edward must face the loss of half his men,
either to us, to dysentery, or fever, and admit defeat.”
He stood beside David, two hundred feet above the
river at the ridge of Cae Coch, just south of Trefriw, looking
east.

“
Will he
make for the woods?”
David
gestured with one hand to the ridge on the other
side of the valley where his company had stood hours before to
launch the initial attack.