Footsteps in Time (The After Cilmeri Series Book 1)

Footsteps in Time (Chapter Twenty)

"What have you done!" one man shouted when the scouts led them to the camp. "Fields burned; homes fired; a lifetime of labor lost in one night!"

"Are you English or Welsh, man!" barked one of David's men (another Gruffydd), before the peasant could speak again. "You like living under Bohun's boot, do you? Even if he has no love for Edward, he should not rule in Wales!"

The man shook his fist in Gruffydd's face, not appeased in the slightest.

"Llywelyn, Prince of Wales, invites you to travel north where you will be made welcome," Bevyn said, ignoring the man. "Trust that your sacrifice is not in vain, and we will unite all Wales under his banner."

"And the end justifies the means," David said, though only to himself.

The scouts brought quite different news from the Clifford holdings. The town of Hay was already furiously rebuilding and shoring up its defenses. At Bronllys, the people had deserted the village and moved into the castle proper. Bevyn suggested that they should return there in order to determine their next move. David agreed. The next day they surveyed the damage from a nearby wood.

"We could take the castle, my lord," Ieuan said. "The castellan must be an innocent to have brought the villagers inside. He won't have enough provisions to feed them for long."

"Ieuan is right," Bevyn said. "It would be negligent of us not to take advantage of the opportunity."

"We'll need more men," Ieuan said.

"We'll send word to my father." David had accepted the idea and was planning ahead. "We'll keep them penned inside until reinforcements come. When we take it, the man father sends can have the castle as a reward."

The messenger rode to Buellt and back in two days. He returned with exactly what David needed: Madoc, a younger son of Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, and a force of fifteen cavalry and thirty foot soldiers Madoc had force-marched the twenty miles from Buellt.

Madoc brought the news, too, that Buellt was Llywelyn's once again. Hereford's men had fought, but only so they might retreat safely back to England. Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, contrary to David's suspicions, had remained true to Wales.

Bronllys starved in less than two weeks, far more quickly than Bevyn had hoped, though far longer than David thought he could stand. As it turned out, they'd had food for only eight days and had gone hungry for five. David's company were lucky, really, to be in the right place at the right time, unlike the people of Bronllys. As David rode beside Madoc through the gatehouse, the smell and the cries turned his stomach.

"Get these people food!" David ordered.

Madoc looked at him, surprised at his vehemence. In response, David spoke more harshly to him than perhaps he should have. "These are your people now," he said. "Their lives are your responsibility. I expect you to see to them as a lord should."

Madoc blinked. "Yes, my lord," he said.

The castle priest came out of the chapel, his arms in the air. "My Prince!" he said. "We thank you for our deliverance from the English usurpers. May God bless and keep you and your father, the Prince of Wales."

David gazed at the weakened peasants, most of whom hadn't the energy to stand. Though these people were Welsh, they couldn't have had any love for him. David felt both guilt and pity. He dismounted and came face to face with the former castellan of Bronllys. He was only a boy, with blonde hair and red-rimmed eyes. He stood before David, ramrod straight, though his chin was set. "My lord. I am Roger de Clifford. I surrender Bronllys to your keeping."

"Ah. The Clifford heir," Bevyn said. "What's he doing here?"

Roger's father, also named Roger, had died during the English defeat at the Menai Straits in November of 1282, and Llywelyn had word of his grandfather's death in France just recently. A hot rage rose in David. If the fates had been different, this could have been him.