Winds of Time (6 page)

It was a fine day in late August—perfect for
jogging along on the horse Marc had provided. For over an hour
after we left the convent, Marc didn’t say a single word to me. He
rode a few yards ahead, his shoulders stiff and his back straight.
Clearly, our meeting had brought up bad memories and he hadn’t
forgiven me for whatever it was that he believed I’d done.

And truly, I wanted to know what that was.
“When did you leave Prince Dafydd’s service?” I raised my voice so
my words could cross the yards that separated us.

I thought at first that he wasn’t going to
answer, he took so long to speak, but then he said, “Earlier this
year.”

“
How, then, can your leaving
him be my fault?”

But Marc had gone mute again. As a result, I
dropped further behind him. In the weeks since I’d arrived, I’d
thought of little else but that single year with Llywelyn that had
changed my life so completely. Marc had barely played into it,
which is why it had taken so long to recognize him—that and the
years hadn’t been as kind to him as they’d apparently been to me.
He’d been there at the river. I’d seen him in the company of Prince
Dafydd during his visit to Brecon when I was pregnant with David.
What had Marc done to turn Prince Dafydd against him sixteen years
later that had anything to do with me?

Suddenly, two men on horseback burst from
the woods in front of Marc. One of them held a sword. I reined in,
my horse feeling my panic and skittering sideways.

“
Stay away from me!” Fifty
feet ahead of me, Marc’s horse danced away from the two
others.

I didn’t know what to do. I sidled my horse
to the side of the road, warring between turning tail and running
and staying to help—if I even could. It wasn’t as if I could ride
to Marc’s rescue.

The man with the sword had fair hair and a
short, stocky build. He stuck out his chin at Marc. “You dare to
give me orders?”

Marc, however, wasn’t intimidated. “Is this
not cowardly, Henry?” He pulled out his sword too and waved it at
the lead rider. “Are your orders to dispose of me now? Why can’t
Prince Dafydd let me live in peace?”

“
You failed in your duty,
Marc.” Henry’s voice was all reason, as if it was perfectly
acceptable for him to attack Marc in the middle of the day and Marc
should simply yield. “You know too much about his plans. The Prince
lives, and thus, you must die.”

My brain could barely
process Henry’s words. Prince Dafydd had plotted against
Llywelyn
again
? Is
that what they were talking about?

For all that Llywelyn had tried to protect
me from scenes such as this, I had seen violence when I’d lived
with him. But I hadn’t faced a sword in so long, the fear caught me
by surprise, closing my throat and making my heart beat in my ears.
I felt disembodied, hovering above the men as they hacked at each
other and as the historian in me objectively observed how awkward
it was to try to fight on horseback.

Although he received at least one solid blow
to the head from the unnamed second man’s shield, Marc was able to
ram his sword through the man’s stomach before slashing the throat
of Henry’s horse. Henry slipped his feet from the stirrups before
the horse could crush him and landed on his feet. From the saddle,
Marc swung his sword at him. Henry backed way and balanced on the
edge of the road, in danger of losing his footing on the soft
ground near the trees.

Marc, in this incarnation, had no regrets or
recriminations. He face had fallen into grim and determined lines.
He wasn’t going to lie down and die before Henry.

“
You betrayed us, Marc!”
Henry voice carried above the trees. “It is by your cowardice that
the Prince still lives. If you have any loyalty left towards Prince
Dafydd, you will put up your sword and come with me
now.”

“
And allow you to murder me
the moment I lower my guard?” Cursing his denial, Marc struck
Henry’s sword such a blow that Henry dropped it. Marc leaned
forward, grabbed Henry by the upper arm and jerked him so that he
was standing on his tiptoes. “You dare come at me with your
accusations?” Marc said. “You know nothing about me or what I have
done.”

“
Prince Dafydd—”

“
Prince Dafydd let me go. I
don’t care if you tell him that you found me. He will know you
failed to subdue me. The next time I see you, I
will
kill you.”

I believed Marc, and Henry took him at his
word too. Marc loosened his grip and Henry twisted away. Five
seconds later, he had leaped the ditch beside the road and
disappeared into the trees that lined it. Marc let him go, and then
like the felling of a great tree in the forest, tilted sideways in
the saddle, slid off his horse, and landed with a hollow thump on
the ground.

I dismounted and ran forward to fall on my
knees at Marc’s side. Truth be told, even if Marc hated me, I
needed him. If he died I didn’t know what I would do. Perhaps I
could journey to the ship by myself for the short distance
remaining, but I feared encountering Henry or other strange men. It
wasn’t like I was dressed as a nun.

I patted Marc’s body up and down but the
only blood on him was spray from the man he’d killed. The blow to
his head must have been worse than it first appeared, and I was
glad that Marc hadn’t keeled over until after Henry had gone.

“
I should have known better
than to major in history.” I mumbled the words to myself as I eased
Marc’s helmet from his head. “Nursing would have served me
better.”

The blow to Marc’s head had dented his
helmet and produced an ugly knot where Henry had struck him. A
sliver of metal was embedded in his skin and blood seeped from the
wound, clotting in his hair.

For a moment, I wished I still had my
pocket-sized first aid kit, but then dismissed the thought. I
couldn’t doctor Marc properly, but I wasn’t entirely without
resources.

When I’d come to the nunnery, I’d possessed
nothing other than what I stood up in. But Prioress Edyth had given
me a parting gift of a satchel with a change of clothes, food, and
a water skin, plus a medieval version of a first aid kit: a salve
of sanicle, tweezers, and some linen bandages. She must have known
her brother better than I’d thought.

With the metal tweezers, which looked
remarkably like ones I might have purchased from a store at home, I
drew the sliver out. It wasn’t long, but it had been stopping up
the wound, which now bled freely.

Hurrying now lest Marc lose too much blood,
I pressed a cloth against the wound. The blood had soaked his hair,
but I cleared the area around the wound and sponged at it gently
with a second damp cloth. It was just as well, in truth, that I
didn’t have my original first aid kit. Marc probably would woken
up, balked at the packaging, and decided I was a witch, on top of
my other failings.

Part of me would have preferred to leave him
in the dust and continue the journey by myself, but I couldn’t do
it. Just because he hated me, didn’t mean I could abandon him in
his distress. It was some comfort that at this point he needed me
more than I needed him.

Pressing firmly, I eventually stemmed the
bleeding, and then wrapped his head with a strip of linen. Even
after I finished, I stayed on the ground, cradling his head in my
lap and waiting for him to wake.

He didn’t stir. I sat there, feeling more
and more uncomfortable in my exposed position and trying to figure
out what I would do if he never woke. I had two horses, a road the
end of which I didn’t know, and an unconscious man whom I couldn’t
hope to lift onto a horse. I wasn’t too happy about the dead man
and a couple of feet from me either.

I was starting to wonder if I really should
leave Marc, in order to seek help in a nearby village (provided I
could find one) when Marc moaned and jerked his shoulders. He tried
to sit up, but fell back, his hand to his head. No doubt he found
his position on my lap as uncomfortable as I did, because he
grimaced at me and tried to put me in my place.

“
What have you done to me,
woman?” he said. “My head aches like the devil himself were inside
it!”

“
You received a blow to the
head and fell off your horse,” I said. “You bled everywhere, but I
bound your wound and hopefully, if you go slowly, your wound will
heal.”

He glared at me, but I returned his gaze
without animosity. He grumbled to himself and very slowly sat up. I
scooted away and handed him the water skin so he could drink. After
a few more minutes, he was able to lever himself to his feet. He
rested his head against his horse and slowly stroked its neck.

“
Are we in danger from
Henry, do you think?” I said.

Marc sighed and patted his horse some more,
back to his usual silence. Fortunately, this time, he condescended
to break it. “Henry is my cousin,” he said in a level voice, the
first time I’d heard him use it. “While Edyth and I share a father,
Henry is the eldest son of my father’s brother. Upon his deathbed,
my uncle asked me to look after him. Henry is five years younger
than I, and has always been greedy, conniving, and very, very
intelligent. I thought I could control him, and failed in the worst
possible way.

“
Since Prince Dafydd
returned to Wales—after the agreement of 1277—Henry rose higher in
the Prince’s estimation, to my detriment. It was through me that
Henry came to the Prince’s attention in the first place, but I
realize now that Henry continually whispered untruths about me in
the Prince’s ear. Prince Dafydd, in turn, saw the possibilities in
my brother: that he would carry out his bidding, no matter what it
was. That brought Henry more power. Through Henry’s urging, Prince
Dafydd reconciled with Prince Llywelyn. As Prince Dafydd’s
influence grew, so did Henry’s.”

“
What plan did you fail to
complete that brought down Prince Dafydd’s ire on you?” I said.
“Did he order you to … assassinate Prince Llywelyn?”

Marc opened one eye and then closed it,
before answering a question I hadn’t asked. “Henry rescued me from
my debtors, but I owed him money and he never let me forget it. He
threatened to expose my failings to my other creditors. And to
Prince Dafydd, if I didn’t take the blame for something I didn’t
do. That the plan failed is Henry’s doing, not mine.”

“
What plan?”

But Marc didn’t answer. He gripped his
horse’s mane and pulled himself into the saddle as if he were
climbing the last peak of a tall mountain range. Once in the
saddle, he looked first at me, and then away down the road.

“
I will speak no more of
this,” he said. “It is over. Now remount your horse and we will be
on our way.”

He urged his horse forward
and I hurried to catch my own horse and mount, my head spinning all
the while. The need to see Llywelyn had risen as an ache in my
breast I hadn’t felt for many years. I’d fought it; I’d beaten it
down; I’d suppressed it to the point that I believed I could live a
normal life. I
had
lived a normal life. But all I’d done was lull myself into
living a lie.

For the rest of the day, I rode well behind
Marc. Whether his silence was due to shame or anger I did not know.
I was as lost in the Middle Ages as I’d ever been.

* * * * *

“
You must be Mistress
Marged,” the stocky captain of the
Morgannwg
said in Welsh as I
dismounted. Marc was already turning his horse around as if he
meant to leave that very minute.

“
Yes, sir,” I said in the
same language, glancing back at Marc. “How soon do we
sail?”

“
With the tide, Madam. One
hour. Please come aboard.”

I glanced past him to the little boat that
would carry me to Wales and thought ugly thoughts.

“
Are there any other
passengers?” I wanted to know how many others might witness my
upcoming humiliation.

The captain hesitated, leaned forward, and
lowered his voice. “There is one, Madam. He should remain hidden
and you need not encounter him.”

“
Why ever not?”

“
He is a physician.” Morgan
pursed his lips, thinking. “He is … a Jew.”

“
Oh,” I said.

“
The man saved my daughter’s
life and I feel I must accommodate his request for passage to
Wales. If you are concerned about sailing with him …”

The man hesitated again and I hurried to
reassure him. “I’m not concerned, sir. Please don’t worry about him
on my account. I confess I am not a good sailor, and I might have
need of his assistance on the voyage.”

The captain opened his mouth as if to speak,
seemed to think better of it, and then blurted out his thoughts
anyway. “But, Madam! The Archbishop of Canterbury has forbidden
Jewish physicians to practice on English Christians.”

The light dawned. I had momentarily
forgotten about this odious era of English history.

“
Then it’s a good thing
we’re not English, isn’t it?” I swept up the gangplank past
him.

“
It is, indeed, Madam.” The
captain barked a laugh behind me. “It is indeed.”

I found myself on board a
single-masted, single-ruddered, cargo vessel that was larger than I
had initially thought. Did I want to know what goods he was hauling
illegally to Wales?
Probably not.
It could be food, since drugs were an unlikely
source of illicit income in the thirteenth century. The hatch on
the main deck was open, revealing a dark space below decks. Two
low-ceilinged cabins sat on the deck at the rear of the boat, one
for me and one for the captain. Where was the physician
staying?
Please not in the cargo
hold!