Children of Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book Four) (9 page)

“I know it.”

“Thus, I’m asking you again—
why
?” I said. “You could have told me what was happening in England and what we might face in London without all this—” I gestured expansively with one hand, meaning the rain, the walk, even the world at large “—without letting me in on the secret of your Order.”

Bevyn halted in the middle of the road, within range of the torch lights from the gate, and turned to face me. “You needed to know.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Why?”

Bevyn’s jaw worked. “Did you know that it was I who was the first to go to your father, back at Castell y Bere, after you came to us? It was I who told him what he had.”

A coldness spread throughout my belly. “Go on.”

“I told your father that he had to be very careful with you, that you were no ordinary boy. You were far more than he could ever have hoped for in a son, but you were untrained—woefully untrained—and that meant handling—on his part and on mine—with soft gloves.”

I thought back to those first days in Wales, when my life had narrowed to sword play, languages my mind had refused to encompass, and meals that by the end of the day I was too tired to eat. Bevyn had been right in his understanding of me. “But all that changed, didn’t it?” I said. “It was the boar hunt.”

Bevyn nodded. “Up until then, you were all raw potential. At the boar hunt, the kind of man you were became clear. We knew for certain then.”

“My father treated me differently after that.” I said, knowing it for truth, though I’d never understood the chain of events before. I eyed my old friend warily. “Before that day, he considered
not
claiming me as his son, didn’t he?”

Bevyn barked a laugh. “Never that. He would have claimed you even had you sported a limp and a twisted shoulder, so desperate was he for an heir. But he had to acknowledge that you had been raised in a different world, one he didn’t understand and never could. You were strong, intelligent, and well-fed, but innocent. He didn’t want to undermine the foundation your mother had given you while building in you what you needed to survive here. To rule here.” Bevyn slapped a gloved fist into the palm of his other hand.

A chill settled on my shoulders at Bevyn’s last words. “What you’re telling me without saying it aloud is that my father knew of your Order, isn’t that right?”

Bevyn nodded.

“You chose to tell me now, not because you thought
I
should know, but because my father is absent.”

“You are Wales, my lord,” Bevyn said. “You cannot run from it, nor afford any more drunken evenings.”

“No,” I said. “I can’t.”

And then without warning, a bloom of laughter rose in my chest, along with something else—something like hope. I tipped back my head and let the laughter out. It grew and grew until I was laughing so hard I had to hold onto Bevyn’s shoulder lest I lose my balance. Tears streamed down my cheeks, mixing with the falling rain, and I wiped at the water with the back of my hands.

“I am delighted at your change of humor, my lord, but what is it that you find so amusing?” Bevyn smiled, but his eyes reflected puzzlement.

I held my belly, swallowing down a few last chuckles. “A secret society exists solely to protect me. I have my own personal Order.” It was strange and hilarious—and beyond insane. I laughed again, and this time Bevyn joined me, even if he still didn’t fully understand.

Live lightly indeed.

Chapter Seven

15 November 1288

David

I
lay in bed with Lili in my arms, listening to her breathe and unable to sleep myself. Something about the night’s events had sparked a change in me. I didn’t know yet if it was real change or the mead talking, but I wasn’t nearly as morose as I’d been. The black cloud that had followed me—maybe for years—was fading to gray.

It was both comforting and terrifying to know that the Order of the Pendragon existed: comforting because someone beyond my father was looking out for me; terrifying because I hadn’t known about it and Dad hadn’t seen fit to tell me. He had sought to train me to be king, and yet had kept secrets—important secrets. What else would I discover about ruling Wales now that he was gone?

And that was another problem. I’d never felt like the boy lion in
The Lion King
, singing about how he couldn’t wait to be king, without acknowledging that for this to happen, his father had to die. My father was somewhere around sixty—he’d always been vague on the exact year he’d been born. Regardless of the specifics, he was twenty years older than Mom. It was my impression that he felt those years more now than he had even a few years ago when I first came to Wales. Sixty was
old
for the Middle Ages. Mom had said that the median life expectancy for males who survived childhood was forty-eight. I was twenty—and of course would live forever—but even I was daunted by the idea that I had fewer than thirty years to live. Dad had to feel he was living on borrowed time.

Mostly that didn’t bear thinking about. It was only at times like these, when I held Lili in the middle of the night as she slept and I stewed in my own juices, unable to turn off my brain, that I allowed myself to truly contemplate what I’d done when I’d returned to Wales three years ago. It had been my
choice
, far more than my duty. Why was I seeing only now how heavily that choice had weighed on me? I’d known at the time, and said out loud, that I was willing to trade security and longevity for the possibility of becoming someone who mattered. I still believed it. It was more that I hadn’t truly understood what it meant until today.

With Dad gone, I had to face the fact that I mattered
now.
The future of Wales rested on my shoulders. Despite my training, despite the number of people who supported me and might die for me—literally—now that it came to it, I knew down to the deepest core of my being that my back wasn’t broad enough to carry the burden.

A rumbling began again in my chest, a laughter I couldn’t swallow or hide. Did nobody realize how inadequate I was? I had people referring to me openly as the return of Arthur. Couldn’t they see how absurd that was?

As I chuckled to myself, trying not to wake Lili, the last of my tension oozed away into the bedcovers.

“You’re not sleeping,” Lili said.

“You’re not supposed to know that.” I pulled her closer.

“I always know when you’re not sleeping,” Lili said. “The thoughts start spinning in your head so fast I can hear them. What were you thinking that made you laugh?”

“That I have a task before me that I can’t possibly manage, even with help, but I’m going to attempt it anyway.”

“And that’s funny?” Lili said.

“It’s freeing,” I said.

She rolled over so she faced me, snuggling closer. “You’re not going to fail.”

“Of course I am, Lili,” I said. “And it’s okay. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I was thinking about the Order of the Pendragon, and the wedding, and the poisonous herbs from Shrewsbury, and who is going to win the throne of England,” she said. “It’s all a jumble in my head, the same as you.”

I threw a hand over my eyes. “You really did read my mind. My life will never be the same again.”

“You’re silly.” Lili poked me in the side.

I grabbed her hand. “I am having second, third, and fourth thoughts about attending William’s wedding.”

“We have to go. You said as much to the others and nothing has changed,” Lili said. “We can’t let people know that your father and mother have disappeared—not yet—not until our people have become accustomed to your rule.”

“But that’s exactly it,” I said. “I won’t be ruling Wales. Nobody will. That was one reason Dad wasn’t going to come with us in the first place.”

“That, and he has as much of a price on his head as you do,” Lili said.

“Now that’s comforting—”

“We’ll have gone and come back by the end of the month,” Lili said. “If your parents haven’t returned by then, we may have to address the people, but until then …”

“Until then, we pretend that nothing has happened, which means that I have to put on finery and make small talk with men who would just as soon run me through as look at me,” I said.

“And here I thought, when you first spoke of traveling to England, that it might be fun.”

“We can’t lower our guard, not for one second,” I said. “They’ll all be there—Alfonso, Mortimer, Valence, my cousin, Hywel—every one of them eyeing my throat and possibly each other’s, which is actually the only good news. They hate each other as much as they hate me. Maybe more, since they know each other so well.” I rubbed my eyes. “From the moment we set foot in England, we must assume the worst of all but our closest companions.”

“Then you’d better get some sleep, husband,” Lili said, curling into my arm and putting her hand on my chest. “On top of everything else, it’s your birthday in a few hours.”

I listened as her breath quieted and thought that she was asleep, but then she said, “I’ve been thinking about my father.”

I rubbed her shoulder. “I know.” I’d been thinking about Cynan too, worried that he’d try to use his connection to her to either hurt her, or influence me. Admittedly, he had confessed hatred for my father, and by extension, me, but greed did strange things to people.

“Have you ever heard Bohun mention him? Do you know where he is?” she said.

My stomach clenched at the hitch in her voice. Cynan had abandoned her and Ieuan when she was very young. She hadn’t seen her father in years, not even at our wedding, since we hadn’t invited him. Ieuan and I had encountered Cynan three years ago, when he had helped Humphrey de Bohun capture us and kill our men, before we managed to gain the advantage. Cynan had been released with Bohun at the signing of the treaty.

He served Humphrey de Bohun now, and it was Humphrey de Bohun we were going to see.

“No,” I said. “But I will find out.”

A few minutes later, she was asleep, despite her insistence that she never slept when I didn’t. Now that she was pregnant, she slept more hours than she was awake. This journey would wear her out—it was a hundred and ten miles to London—and it wasn’t a trip we could make by car.

Because my plan was to travel lightly, without much in the way of baggage, we should reach Westminster Palace by the 19
^th
of November. That was cutting it very close to William’s wedding, which would take place on the 20
^th
. If the Bohuns viewed our abbreviated trip as an insult, so be it.

I was betting that Humphrey not only understood our hesitation in riding into England, but also approved of our caution and didn’t mind sharing the limelight with me for as little time as possible. If anyone asked me to my face, I would say that I trusted our new allies, these Norman barons who’d pledged their allegiance … but I didn’t. I couldn’t afford to, especially now. We would stay a week and then return, provided everything went well.

Ha
. When had everything gone well? I wished I had a plan, beyond mere attendance at the wedding and the hope of keeping the poisonous politics of the English court at bay.

Dad and I had spent the last six years reacting to the actions of others. Some English lord would make a move, and we’d counter it. In August, we’d come out on top yet again, but the odds were against holding off Norman designs on Wales forever. Luck had played a role in everything we’d managed to accomplish so far, but I couldn’t count on it always being on our side. You made your own luck, yes, but sometimes you were just plain lucky. Particularly after we’d run into Clare and he’d turned out to be an ally, I’d had a vision of Valence running around behind the scenes, patching his plan together with duct tape. It hadn’t held, but that wasn’t to say it wouldn’t next time.

For once, why couldn’t it be our side that
acted
instead of
reacted?

I’d mentioned this to my father, and he’d given me a hard look. And then Dad had said the same words to me that he’d spoken on the balcony this afternoon:
You know what you need to do.

Was that it? Was he right?
I shook my head. I couldn’t see it.

* * * * *

Arising to face the day, having fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, I was no closer to any conclusion apart from the thought that some motion was better than no motion. I put my fears about the future of the United Kingdom aside because my first concern was getting us to London in one piece. I was very much aware that, whatever our strength of arms, we had women among us, and noncombatants. We would be vulnerable the whole time we were on the road, and we had no idea when and where our enemies might plan an ambush.

My squire, Tomos, waited for me as Lili and I headed out of our solar, where we’d breakfasted. I stopped in front of him with my arms outstretched so he could adjust my sword belt, armor, and surcoat to his satisfaction. He was as bad as my manservant in wanting me to look perfect, but I’d learned that a good boss identified people who had the skills and qualities they needed, and then got out of the way to let them do their job. Tomos made my life easier in both the short and the long run.

A few paces on, Anna stepped into my path. “You need to wait a second.”

I pulled up short. “Why?”

“They’re not ready for you,” she said.

I glanced at Lili, who gave me a rueful smile. “You are the King of Wales for now, my love. You can’t simply stroll out of your rooms and mount your horse. Everyone else has to be ready first.”

“Don’t be ridic—” I began a protest, and then stopped. Lili and Anna were right. Six years ago at Castell y Bere, I’d noticed that Dad would appear at the start of whatever journey was planned for the day—whether hunting a boar or riding to war—at the very moment everyone else was ready to go. He wouldn’t keep us waiting, but at the same time, never had to wait outside himself. At the time, I’d marveled at his impeccable timing. As I grew in experience, I realized that his counselors stage-managed him, just as Anna was stage-managing me today.