David
I am Prince Llywelyn's son. I am Mom's and Prince Llywelyn's son. David awoke alone—suddenly alone—in his own, solitary, single, never-to-be-shared-with-anyone room in the castle, and found himself choking on semi-hysterical laughter. No longer the son of a man he'd never met, and whom hardly anyone in his family remembered much about or spoke of, he was the son of the Prince of Wales. I am a Prince of Wales!
Admittedly, one of David's first actions upon entering the room was to throw himself upon the bed, spread-eagled, and rejoice in the comfort of the down mattress. Then, he imagined himself going up to Fychan and mentioning, offhand and casually, that he was late for sword play today because he'd just left his father in his office where they'd discussed important business. His father.
Despite his fantasies, dinner the night before had been the most awkward meal of David's life. Anna had joined the high table too, sitting between him and Goronwy. She'd seemed completely relaxed and had talked animatedly with Goronwy, whose usually severe expression had been transformed by his joy that Anna remembered him.
David, for his part, hadn't known how to act. He didn't know how to be a son; how to be a Prince of Wales. Prince Llywelyn—Father—had asked David to sit beside him, and he'd done so, but he'd knocked over his water glass, dropped parsnips down his front, and generally made a fool of himself within the first five minutes. Father had then grabbed David's arm as he was reaching for his cup and held it.
He'd smiled, though his eyes were serious. "Are you a different person from this morning, son?"
"No," David had said, "and yes. I don't know how to be a prince."
"Don't think of it that way," Father said. "Just be my son."
"I don't know how to be that either," David said. "I've never had a father."
"Then be the man you were this morning," Father said. "That man is a Prince of Wales."
That was an oddly comforting thought, other than his use of the word 'man', which was still taking some getting used to. Then Father spoke again. "When your mother returned to your world, she didn't marry?"
Anna stilled beside him at the question.
"No," David said.
"Ahh," Father sat back in his chair. Then David thought he heard him mutter under his breath, "Good," but he wasn't sure. Did he still think of her too, or was it just that now I was here, he was thinking of her? He had married someone else.
Anna poked David's leg under the table and leaned closer. "His whole life, Wales, and the Middle Ages is what Mom studies! She talks about him all the time and nobody suspects a thing!"
"There's no way we could have known," David said, "but it feels like we've been blind."
"It was your heritage," Anna said, "but she couldn't tell you anything about it."
"And how does it make you feel?" David said, suddenly concerned. "We're only half-siblings now."
"I'm still your older sister," she said, starch in her voice. "Don't think just because you're the Prince of Wales that it makes any difference to me."
Father overheard. "You're a princess, my dear. I'll not hear otherwise."
Anna ducked her head and focused on her food.
Ha! "Accept it, Anna," David said, leaning close again. "It might get you out of some sewing."
She didn't say anything after that, but she was smiling.
* * * * *
The next morning, David was pulling on his shirt, knowing he'd slept far too late, when a tentative knock came at the door.
"Come in!" David said.
Owain and four of the other boys from David's contingent pushed open the door and stood hesitating in the doorway. David straightened and they studied each other for a long ten seconds.
Owain was the first to speak. "My lord," he said, and David felt that the words came awkwardly to his lips. They felt awkward to hear. "Sir Bevyn requests your presence at the practice ring."
David raised his eyebrows. "Is that what he said?"
Owain shifted from one foot to another. "Um, no, my lord."
"So what he really said was 'tell his lordship to get his noble ass out here right now or I'll make him wish he'd woken earlier, Prince of Wales or no Prince of Wales.'"
Despite themselves, everyone laughed. David laughed with them and waved them into the room. He'd tried to do Bevyn's accent and gruff voice and gotten it nearly right. Now, with the tension broken, the boys spread out. One stoked the fire in the grate, another sat gingerly upon the mattress.
"I think we'll sleep with you from now on," a boy named Gruffydd said. "This is much nicer than the barracks."
"Why didn't you tell us you were Prince Llywelyn's son?" Owain said. Everyone stopped moving. David looked up from pulling on his boots—no longer the twenty-first century ones, but a new pair the cobbler had finished last week. What a question!
"I didn't know," he said. "My mother never told me." David and Llywelyn had discussed how to respond to this before they parted after dinner and had decided that they'd hit as close to the truth as they could.
The boys looked nonplussed. "Why not?"
"I can't ask her," David said. "All I know is that she sent me here to be with the Prince, and he waited to tell me until he thought the time was right."
"No wonder you're so smart." That was Owain again. David didn't want to hear that, though, because dwelling on their differences would only create a bigger barrier between them and him. They were all noble too, but there was the nobility—and then there was the Prince's son. David might have been a prince for only twelve hours, but he knew enough about it to know that.
Bevyn waited for them in the courtyard, his hands on his hips, and a distinct smirk on his face. If David was expecting deference, he didn't get it.
"You're late," he snapped.
"I'm sorry, sir," David said. "I've not slept by myself here before, and didn't realize that I wouldn't wake in time."
"You missed mass and breakfast," Bevyn said. "Here." He threw David a roll. "Come," he said.
"Thanks," David said to his back. He inspected the food and saw there was both cheese and meat inside. As always, Bevyn treated David with a complicated mix of causticity and muted affection.
"Where are Fychan and Dai?" Gruffydd said from behind David.
"Gone," Bevyn said, "along with a dozen others. We're gathering at Dolwyddelan." He looked back and his sneer was almost a smile. "In two days' time, we all will leave here to join them—even you, Gruffydd."
Everyone saddled up. As David mounted Taranis, a stranger led his horse from the stables. Bevyn trotted over to introduce them. "Prince Dafydd, please meet Mathonwy ap Rhys Fychan, your cousin. Lord Mathonwy, this is Prince Dafydd."
"My lord." Mathonwy bowed. "Please call me Math."
"Dafydd," David said. They grasped forearms in greeting.
"It is my honor to serve you," Math said.
And then David realized that Math meant what he said. "My father brought you here to watch over me, didn't he?"
"Yes," Math said, as if there was nothing more to it than that.
Yet David didn't have to ask why. I am a Prince of Wales. Math mounted his horse and rode out of the gatehouse at David's side. David tried to think of something to say. Math was a lot older—maybe twenty, six feet tall, with black hair, blue eyes, but no mustache. That was unusual enough to comment upon, but David thought the first question out of his mouth shouldn't be, "why don't you have a mustache?"
Instead, David said, "So you're my cousin?"
"I am the son of Prince Llywelyn's sister, Gwladys. She died at my birth, and I lost my father ten years later. I've lived in your father's household since then. I've just come from the north, from Ewloe, one of the castles I hold for your father against the English."
"When did my father send for you?"
"I received word of your arrival the day after Christmas, but it took some time to make a proper disposition of my men. Ewloe is only a few miles from Hawarden and Flint, both of which the English once held and would like to hold again. Edward himself sits at Rhuddlan, waiting for the weather to clear."
"Are you a knight?" David blurted out. Math certainly looked it, with well-polished mail armor, sword, and leather bracers worn with use.
He laughed, but not at David. "Yes," he said. "And someday, that fate will be yours, God willing."
As they rode down the road to the valley floor, David kept glancing out of the corner of his eye at Math. Math sat very straight, his hands on the reins just so, his shield held at exactly the right angle. Without saying anything, David tried to copy him. David had a sense, all the same, that Math was watching him and knew what he was doing. David decided he didn't care. Father wouldn't have brought Math to Castell y Bere if he didn't trust him, and if he didn't think David had something to learn from him.
"Today we ride west," Bevyn said above the clopping of hooves and the murmur of boys, "to the sea."
David's ears perked up at that. He hadn't yet seen the sea, even though it was fewer than ten miles from Castell y Bere. They forded the River Dysynni, to the northwest of the castle, and then followed a trail along the north bank of the river. When the river cut south, the trail continued west to the sea and the village of Llangelynin. They rode without stopping through what in the summer would be rich farmland, and less than an hour later reached the beach.
David breathed in the sea air. His eyes strained forward across the water, but the low clouds hanging on the horizon blocked the view towards Ireland.
And America.
"The sea is in my blood," Math said. "My family's lands lie in the south, at DinefwrCastle in Ystrad Tywi but I was born at Aberystwyth, in the old castle that Edward destroyed. That castle sat on a headland, overlooking this sea, and was beautiful, not like the half-finished ruin that Edward thought to build."
"Who has it now?" David said.
"Gruffydd ap Maredudd. During Holy Week a year ago, we took Aberystwyth, Hawarden, Flint, Llandovery, and Carreg Cennen in one night. We've won and lost these and more in the last year, but Aberystwyth is still ours."
"Were you there?"
Math laughed again. "No. The rebellion was all your uncle's idea at first, you know. Your father didn't join the fight until nearly summer. We've had some defeats and a few victories, most notably at the Menai Straits in November. Edward has waited two months to attack again. It will come, and I pray we will be ready."
"I don't know that I'm ready," David said.
"You are," Math said, "else your father wouldn't be letting you fight."
Bevyn spoke above the murmuring of the boys. "We will split up, today," he said. "I've a new lesson for you. You'll need to find your way home without my help."
"Now that's going to be interesting," Math said. He tipped his head to David and Owain, indicating they should ride with him.
Llangelynin didn't have much of a beach and within an eighth of a mile of the shoreline, a rocky escarpment rose over two hundred feet above it, forming a ridge of land that descended only slightly to the farmland on the other side. Further east, the land fell nearly to sea level, before rising again to the foot of the mountain range of which Cadair Idris was the highest peak.
Two miles north, however, which is probably why Bevyn suggested they take that route in the first place, the escarpment receded and it was possible to ride around it inland.
"So the first step is done," Math said. "Now tell me the direction of Castell y Bere."
David thought about it and pointed southeast.
"No," Owain said. "It is directly east, perhaps ten miles."
Math shook his head. "Make it five and you'd be correct," he said. "We rode south from the castle along the Dysinni, before cutting east. Five miles riding is less than an hour's work, but there's a twelve hundred foot mountain between us and the castle. Should we go over it?"
Owain and David slowly shook their heads, both thinking harder now. "No," David said. "We go around it."
Math nodded. "North or south?"
"South," Owain said, more confident now, "back to the Dysinni."
"Yes," Math said. "The first rule of travel through unfamiliar territory is to stick with what you know. We know there's a mountain between us and the castle; we know that Cadair Idris rises above us to the northeast." He pointed, and Owain and David turned to look, but the cloud cover had descended even further.
"And," Owain finished, "we know the river passes by the castle." He held out his hand as a snowflake fell into it.
"So we pick our way between the ridge that runs along the sea, and the one that rises between us and the castle," David said, wishing for the ease of a GPS unit, or at worst, a map and compass.
Math nodded. "You must always remain aware of the land through which you're traveling. Ridges, rivers, mountains, wind, sun—all will inform you of your location. If the snow falls," and now he looked up to check the sky, "you have the wind to guide you. Your great-grandfather built Castell y Bere were he did, Dafydd, because it guards a primary route for travel and trade into the mountains behind it, and is one of the most defensible locations in Wales. An army can approach the valley over which it presides only from the east or west. By following the intersections of roads, ridges and the river we can determine the direction we must travel."
"Even in snow?" Owain said.
David checked his cloak. It was dusted with white.
"Even in snow," Math said, "though it's much less pleasant than when the sun and wind are at your back. If we were anywhere but here, we might have to stop and find shelter, rather than risk becoming lost in the mountains."
With one last look at the grey sea storming onto the shore, David turned inland and led Owain and Math along the curve of the ridge east, and then southeast through the blowing snow. The wind was behind them at first, and then swirled and became directionless as the escarpment rose between them and the sea.
The clouds descended until they couldn't see ten feet in front of them. "It's going to get dark before we're home," Owain said.
They plodded on, hoods up and cloaks tugged tight. They reached the river an hour later and turned east towards Castell y Bere. Then, just as David thought they were on the home stretch, Owain's horse slipped awkwardly on uneven ground the snow had hidden.
"I'm sorry, my lords," Owain said when he dismounted. Although the horse's leg wasn't broken, he couldn't put his weight on it.
Math dismounted too. "It's a sprain only," he said, feeling the horse's hock. "We'll have to lead him."
The horse's head bobbed with every step, but he walked the rest of the way. Even as they neared the castle, they would have missed it if beacons hadn't shone from the ramparts. They followed the light, wending their long way up the road to the castle gate. When they reached it, Prince Llywelyn was standing under the raised portcullis, his cloak blowing around his shoulders and his hands on his hips.
"Father," David said, dismounting in front of him.
"Son," he said, but only glanced at David once before looking over his shoulder to Math.
"All is well, my lord," Math said.
David's eyes went from his father, to Goronwy, to Bevyn, both of whom stood slightly behind the Prince. Something was wrong and it took him a moment to realize that each them was holding himself very tightly. Prince Llywelyn's jaw was set and his eyes narrowed. Angry at me? Why?
"My lord," Goronwy tried, and David had a sense that this was not his first entreaty.
"What happened?" Father said, his voice flat and emotionless. "You're the last to arrive."
"Owain's horse slipped and strained his leg," David said. "He could barely walk."
"It's only five miles from here to the sea," Father said.
"As the crow flies," David said. "We followed the ridge south, and then had to turn northeast again along the Dysinni. We must have come at least double that distance." David tried to keep defensiveness out of his voice, but probably failed.
Math stepped forward, rescuing him. "It is better that he becomes a little lost here, my lord, and learns to read the landscape close to home, before he attempts it elsewhere where he'll have no choice but to find his way alone."
Father's face remained rigid.
Now it was Goronwy's turn. "If you don't allow Dafydd experiences such as this, you do him a disservice."
"That's why you brought me here, Uncle," Math said, "to keep him safe and I have done so."
"You told me to ensure he learned what he needed to know, sire," Bevyn said. "I apologize if I misunderstood your intentions."
"You didn't," Father said, finally. He stepped towards David and wrappedhis arm around his son's shoulders. "It was I who was unprepared."