Prince of Time (35 page)

The door behind them swung open and banged against the wall. Owain, David’s new captain, bounded into the church. “My lords! Someone comes!”

Math, David, and Anna spun around to look through the open doors which framed the road that led west from the church. A lone rider pounded towards them along it. At a nod from David, Math trotted to where Owain stood in the entrance.

The previous summer, Owain had replaced the former leader of David’s
teulu
, Bevyn, who’d retired to lands on Anglesey, protesting loudly all the while that he wasn’t old, not even forty. And yet, the median age of death for men in the thirteenth century was forty-eight. Anna didn’t know if her mother had actually
told
Bevyn that, but when Anna had seen him four months ago, he had married a girl fifteen years younger than he, who doted on him and was pregnant with his first child. Bevyn had confessed that he hadn’t imagined such happiness was possible for him.

The two men waited until the rider pulled up on the hard-packed earth in front of the steps to the church. He spoke urgently, and then Math ran back to David. He held a sheathed sword in each hand. As he handed one to David, Anna recognized the artwork on the scabbard. It was David’s new sword, finer than any in all of Wales, which Papa had given him for Christmas the previous year.

“Soldiers are coming.” Math unwound his sword belt and wrapped it around his waist. “No more than twenty, but riding hard. They must have crossed the Dyke less than a mile from here, to the northeast of the Abbey.”

“Whose men?” David said.

Math shook his head. “The scout recognized their livery, but I can hardly credit it. Mortimers. Or at least their men.”

David faced Bohun. “Which Mortimer knows that you are here?”

“Edmund,” Bohun said.

“I’d forgotten he survived Lancaster,” David said. “A good reason to eat sparingly at official meals.”

Bohun was still struggling with this news. “But it can’t be. His mother and mine were sisters and he’s married to my wife’s niece. They had their first child only last year. I’ve spoken to him of my plans, but …” He broke off, shaking his head.

“You should have waited until you’d spoken with me before putting all of us in danger.” David pointed at Owain. “You know what to do.”

“Yes, my lord.” Owain saluted and left the church.

Math closed the doors behind him. “Where’s the bar?” Math swung around to look at the Abbot.

The Abbot shook his head. “Our Church is open to all. In all my years of service, we have never locked it.”

Math didn’t bother to shake his head at the innocence that statement revealed. “To think a Mortimer would plague us again.” Leaving the doors, he strode back towards Anna.

“I need my sword,” Bohun said.

“Where is it?” David said.

“On my horse. I didn’t want to leave it with the monks.”

That
was a mistake
.

David met Anna’s eyes. Just for a second, she saw the mockery in them. If he’d been sixteen still, instead of almost twenty, he would have snorted in derision. “I will see you safe and then Math and I must return to our men,” David said. “Can you help us, Abbot Peter?”

“This way.” Abbot Peter grabbed a torch from a sconce on the wall and headed towards the choir and the south transept.

Bohun took long strides in an effort to keep up with David and Math, who held his arm around Anna’s waist and swept her along with him. David had been just fourteen when they’d come to Wales. At the time, Math had topped him by more than half a foot. Now at nearly twenty, David was two inches taller than Math, although thankfully, not still growing. Even so, according Mom, you wouldn’t know it by how much he ate.

The Abbot led them through a door at the back of the church, down a slender set of stairs and into a subterranean passage beneath the chapter house. Stone surrounded them on every side, including the two-foot wide flagstones under their feet. Anna put out a hand to the wall, feeling the dampness that even a dry summer couldn’t cure. At least she smelled no mold, which would have made her head ache.

Several doors stood open on either side of the corridor, revealing storage rooms and a wine cellar. Abbot Peter by-passed them all before approaching another set of stairs that led upwards. When he reached the bottom step, he paused. “Would you prefer to stay inside, or exit through the graveyard?”

“If Mortimer’s men get into the Church, we’re not safe here. I’d rather have room to run,” David said. “But we’ll wait a moment to give Owain a chance to report back.”

“How many men do you have?” Bohun said.

“Fifty.” David looked at the Abbot. “Do I have your permission to draw my sword, Father?”

Abbott Peter nodded and David pulled his sword from its sheath. It glittered in the torchlight and William, who had followed closely behind his father, gasped. David heard the accolade and canted his head in acknowledgment. “Italian steel.”

Those two words conveyed far more than their overt meaning. Papa’s acceptance of Jewish émigrés had allowed the resources of the Jewish trading networks to benefit Wales. Although the Treaty allowed commerce between England and Wales, Wales didn’t
need
England anymore. And Wales certainly appreciated having the greater part of its overall wealth flowing into Welsh hands rather than English ones.

Math pulled out his sword too. His other hand held a torch. He and David took the stairs two at a time to the landing above, that fronted a wooden door, fastened with bronze hinges and fittings. David pressed his ear to the crack between the door and the frame. He shook his head. “I hear men calling, but nobody is right outside the door. Mortimer’s men haven’t found it yet.”

Math glanced down at Anna, and then back to David. “How do we want to do this?”

Now that they were closer to the exit, Anna could hear sounds from outside the abbey—men shouting orders mostly. She took courage from the relaxed demeanor of the men with her who appeared unmoved by the threat. When she’d kissed Cadell goodnight earlier in the evening, it hadn’t occurred to her that she might face danger at the Abbey. And if Math or David had feared it, they would have been united in their refusal to let her come. Still, in the face of the quiet competence of her husband and brother, she felt calm too.

“So, is it Mortimer who threatens William?” David said to Bohun, still with his ear pressed to the door. “You never answered my sister’s question.”

Bohun shook his head. “You know what we in the March are like. These may be Mortimer’s men, but they could just as easily belong to Bigod or Vere. Any one of them could have had word we were coming here.”

“More likely, you have a traitor among your men,” David said.

“It’s Gilbert de Clare that’s got my father most worried,” William said, proving that his grasp of Welsh was excellent.

“
Tch
.” Bohun flung out a hand to his son. “Ah, Will, I wouldn’t go that far—”

Anna and Math exchanged a look that said,
I would
. While the flower of the nobility of England had died at Lancaster, as well as Papa’s brother, Dafydd, a few had survived, whether because they’d eaten less of the poisoned meal or from a naturally hearty constitution. Edmund Mortimer, his brother, Roger, and Gilbert de Clare had been among those who’d been made sick, but hadn’t died, although Gilbert had been in a coma for several weeks. He had almost been buried alive by those who found him, overwhelmed as they were by the number of dead.

“If it is Clare, he
is
someone to worry about,” David said. “His lands in Ireland and England are extensive, but he was one of the richest of Marcher barons too and lost more than anyone when you signed our treaty.”

“He does have the resources, and the drive, to put something like this into play,” Bohun said.

Both Humphrey de Bohun and Gilbert de Clare had been raised by Humphrey’s grandfather. Both Humphrey and Gilbert had fought with Simon de Montfort against the English crown in the Baron’s war, when Gilbert was only twenty-three and Humphrey sixteen.

But after Gilbert had been named a rebel and excommunicated by the Church, he had suddenly switched sides, joining Edward and his father, King Henry, as a valuable and powerful ally against the Bohuns. Humphrey’s father had died from his wounds at the battle of Evesham, the final battle in the war, and since then, Humphrey and Gilbert had hated each other. It was no surprise that they’d ended up on opposite sides in yet another war.

Anna saw real concern come into David’s eyes. “I’ve never been that impressed with Bigod, actually. To learn that it’s Clare—”

“We don’t have time to worry about
who
is responsible just now,” Math said. “It’s what, when, and where that most concern us.”

Footsteps sounded along the passage, moving at a run. Owain came into view, along with four other of David’s men. “They don’t overmatch us and we plan to give them more than they bargained for,” Owain said. “But we need to get you out of the Abbey before they discover this entrance. If Mortimer’s men get past us on the west side, the Abbey won’t provide you a safe haven.”

“That was my thinking,” David said.

With a glance at Math, who nodded, David pushed through the door.

They spilled into the graveyard, eerie in the moonlight and empty of enemies as of yet. Math pulled Anna to him and kissed her forehead. Anna clutched at his cloak. “Stay safe,” she said.

“Protect Anna and the boy,” David said to two of the men whom Owain had brought with him.

“Into the trees.” Math pointed with one finger, indicating the direction they should go.

“For the rest …” David took a moment to clasp Anna’s hand before vanishing into the shadows that cloaked the walls of the monastery, moving silently with Math and Owain, their steps muffled by the thick summer grass.

Anna allowed Bohun to pull her along, away from the church, William tight against his other side. The Abbot kept pace behind.

“
Sweet Mary
,” Bohun said. “To think my trust was so misplaced. Edmund has been my friend since we were boys. To think his men followed me here—to think Edmund would openly attack the Prince of Wales on his home ground.”

“He doesn’t think David should be the Prince of Wales,” Anna said. “Or that Wales should exist at all. You Marcher lords have always viewed my country as your private play ground.”

“You have a point, my dear.” Bohun showed a glint of white teeth, amused despite the duress.

Bohun pulled her and William behind a rickety shed on the far side of the graveyard and pushed down on their shoulders. They crouched just below the level of the long grass that had grown up between some of the gravestones. Summer flowers in pink and yellow, closed now that it was night, showed among the green. Anna recognized pimpernel and speedwell, and the red-dotted leaves of St. John’s wort.

Anna lifted her chin so she could see the Abbey. Nothing moved on their side of the church.

“Go, man,” Bohun said to one of the men David had left with them. “You’ll do more good over there than here. Now that we’re out of the church, I can protect them.” Both he and William held long knives down at their sides. Anna felt for her belt knife and pulled it out too. She would use it if she had to. She knew how.

“Neither of you wear a sword,” the man said. “My lord would have my head if I abandoned you.”

“How far did you ride today? Every one of you looks tired,” Anna said.

“It is an honor to serve the Prince of Wales.” The man’s chin firmed. “He drives himself harder than any of us.”

He looked away without answering her question, however. It was her experience that men often didn’t know how to answer her. She was more outspoken than most women and was willing to ask the questions she was thinking.

Anna’s ears strained for an indication of how the skirmish was going. Her heart constricted in fear for both of her men. She loved them and the thought of either of them not returning had her knees trembling. She’d learned to survive without hot showers or email. She would never
ever
get used to watching her men go off to battle.

“All will be well,” Bohun said, reading her mind. “Your son will not be left fatherless this night.”

Anna nodded and swallowed hard. Bohun sounded sure, but both of them knew that even the most valiant man could be felled by an errant blow.

A chorus of shouting sounded from the far side of the Abbey. The air was still enough that Anna could hear the swords clashing. It went on far too long. She wanted to straighten. It was painful not to know what was happening, but she didn’t dare move until Math returned. She and Math didn’t have a traditional thirteenth century marriage, but she knew better than to disobey him—or her brother—at a time like this.

Bohun was feeling it too. “By the Saints! I hate this waiting.”

Their guard put out a hand. “Stay, my lord.”

Bohun looked ready to spring to his feet, but before he could, Math appeared around the corner of the Abbey and signaled to them with a raised hand. One second, Anna was crouching behind the shed, and the next, she’d run forward and wrapped her arms around Math’s waist. She was able to take a deep breath for the first time in twenty minutes.

“Success?” Bohun brushed at the knees of his breeches.

“Yes.”

Anna pressed her face into Math’s neck. She knew what his tone meant. That one word told her how he felt about the night’s work.

“None of Mortimer’s men can live to bring news to England of my presence here,” Bohun said.

Anna twisted to look back at Bohun. His eyes glinted in the moonlight.

“That will be up to Prince Dafydd,” Math said.

“None of them may see me,” Bohun said. “If my fellow barons knew that I had entered Wales to speak to your Prince …”

Math hitched one shoulder, as if to say
you knew the risks when you came here
. He didn’t say it, though.

Bohun closed the distance between them. “My men wear my colors. Mortimer’s men will know that I was here. They will report it to him.”

“I can only tell you to stay here until we leave with the prisoners and then head for England with your men, as quick as you can,” Math said. “It’s only a mile as the crow flies.”