Daughter of Time: A Time Travel Romance (24 page)

He held her gaze. “I still don’t know that
it is.”

Meg nodded. “That’s honest anyway.”

Humphrey tipped his chin in my direction.
“Your prince knows subterfuge well. My grandfather has told
me.”

Meg glanced at me and her eyes twinkled. “I
believe it. He’ll tell you that the end justify the means at times,
but he’d also say that he accepts responsibility for his actions. A
lord must understand himself and his motives, whether for good or
ill.”

“I can do that,” Humphrey said. “I will do
that.”

“Then you will be a man of whom your
grandfather can be proud,” I said.

Humphrey gazed at Meg for another count of
ten, then stood, bowed, to both her and me, and left the room.

“You think that of me, do you?” I caught a
stray hair that had come loose from Meg’s wimple and tucked it
behind her ear.

“I know it.”

* * * * *

Bohun made Humphrey cool his heels with us
for more than a week, so it was actually Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn who
was the first of the conspirators I confronted. He strode into
Brecon’s great hall as if he owned the place, which he, of all my
barons, allies, and enemies, never had. I found his attitude
irritating so got straight to the point.

“Where is your son?” I asked him. Gruffydd
halted before me, made the proper obeisance, even if the bow wasn’t
quite as deep as it should have been, and seated himself across
from me. A servant brought a trencher of food and a carafe of
wine.

“In England, with Prince Edward,” Gruffydd
said.

“That tells me everything and nothing,” I
said. “I’ve not spoken with Humphrey de Bohun himself, but his
grandson is with us here at Brecon and he confirms Owain’s
involvement in an attack on me at the forest of Coed y Brenin. What
do you say to that?”

Gruffydd turned beet red and sputtered, but
didn’t reply.

Tudur leaned in. “You didn’t think our lord
would charge you with this outright? Did you think that he would
dance around you, anxious to appease you and your heir?”

Gruffydd’s hands clenched and unclenched.
Finally he seemed to master himself. He straightened in his chair
and came out with the truth. “I have dealt with him, my lord. I
assure you that I had no part in his misadventure.”

“I didn’t think you did,” I said. “You’ve
never been a fool. Your son, however, doesn’t appear to share your
strengths.”

“My son,” Gruffydd said through gritted
teeth, “was led astray by your brother. When Dafydd came to him
with a plan to attack you, he felt that he couldn’t turn away such
a powerful overlord.”

I let the silence draw out as I studied
Gruffydd. He held my gaze, defiant. Again it was Tudur who spoke.
“If you really believe this explanation is a proper justification
for his actions, I wonder that you’ve held onto your lands as long
as you have. Would not the proper course for Owain have been to
inform Prince Llywelyn—or you at the very least—of Dafydd’s plans?
Loyalty to the Prince of Wales surely trumps loyalty to a
traitorous brother, whether or not he is a prince.”

This was the same conversation Meg had just
had with Humphrey. I wondered why this appeared to be such a
difficult concept for everyone to grasp. Meg told me I was much
loved by my people’s descendants. But maybe it would be better to
be feared by those who lived now.

Goronwy stood behind me, tapping his foot in
an uneven staccato. I was tempted to put a hand on his leg to stop
him, but refrained. I too was impatient with Gruffydd. I couldn’t
trust him and I couldn’t ignore his son’s blatant rebellion. He
would have to bend or I couldn’t let him leave Brecon.

Gruffydd took a long gulp of wine and set
down his cup. He scrubbed his hair with both hands, sending the
graying curls sticking up every which way, and then to my relief,
capitulated.

“You have my apologies, my lord. I dragged
the story from him when he returned to Powys. He claims the plan
was entirely Dafydd’s, but I can hardly credit it. It was Owain
himself who convinced the Bohun lad to join them; he who paid a
village headman to empty his village; he who aided Dafydd in his
kidnapping of your woman. When and if Owain finds himself under my
roof again, be sure that I will keep him on a tight rein. I will
also send a report to Prince Edward of his deeds. He will be no
more pleased at Owain’s activities than you are.”

I wasn’t too sure of that but let it go. I
had what I wanted from Gruffydd, for now.

* * * * *

We were nearly into April before a man
shouted from the top of the battlements that the Hereford
delegation was coming, the elder Humphrey de Bohun at its head, as
evidenced by his personal shield—six red lions
en passant
on
a gold background.

Humphrey de Bohun was a lion of a man, with
a mane of white hair and beard, in the fashion commonly worn among
the English.

“My lord Prince,” Bohun came to a halt in
front of me, back straight, jaw firm, and tipped forward in a
slight bow, an exact replica of Gruffydd’s posture a week earlier.
Except in his case, the Bohuns
had
owned Brecon. Clare had
taken it from him early in the Baron’s War, and then I took it from
Clare. The Bohuns and I had been allies then, though our alliance
hadn’t gone so far as to inspire me to give the castle back to the
them.

“Lord Bohun,” I said.

I seated him on my right hand and had
Goronwy on my left. Meg sat demurely with Anna at the head of the
closest side table. I was sure her ears were as wide-open as they
could be. Humphrey entered the room a moment later and made a
bee-line for his grandfather, who didn’t stand to greet him.

“Find yourself a seat, boy,” Bohun said.
“I’ll speak with you later.” His words pulled Humphrey up short,
though he was becoming quite good at the stone-faced look.

“Yes, sir.” He turned to seat himself across
from Meg. I didn’t say anything. Among the English, a man could be
twenty-one before he came into his inheritance. It was ridiculous
to leave it so late, with half a man’s life gone already. Perhaps
that was this younger Humphrey’s problem: his grandfather still
treated him as a child when he had the mind to be a man. He
resented that treatment and his anger was manifested in foolish
behavior.

“You’ll release him to me, then,” Bohun said
between bites of chicken. He tossed an empty bone into the dish set
in front of us and speared an onion with his belt knife.

“Yes,” I said. “I told you I would.”

“And no hard feelings, eh?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “I lost good
men because three noble boys—and I don’t care that Owain and Dafydd
are nearly thirty—had men-at-arms to command and thought to end my
life for a lark.”

“Huh.” Bohun grunted. “If a Bohun seeks your
death from now on, it will be on a field of battle, not an
ambush.”

“Before we captured your grandson, I would
have thought that the case anyway,” I said.

Bohun rumbled deep in his chest and his eyes
narrowed at Humphrey who didn’t notice as he was conversing with
Meg. “I hear you have a new woman.”

I paused, a wine goblet half-way to my lips.
“Yes. I would hardly have thought such news would invite
comment.”

“Everything you do invites comment,
especially when it’s out of the ordinary. I hear she warned you of
the ambush too, though I confess, rumors that she is a witch are
surely grossly exaggerated, if that is the woman there with the
child on her lap.”

“That is she. What of Lacey?” Meg and Anna
were none of Bohun’s business.

“No word,” Bohun said. “I sent out riders,
but he has disappeared.”

“And Edward?”

“Ah.” Bohun looked squarely at me for the
first time. “We come to the meat of it. You know he intends a
Crusade?”

“Yes.”

“He cannot go until he accumulates funds he
does not yet have,” Bohun said.

“Always the plight of princes.”

“And earls.” Bohun snorted. “Be that as it
may, he seeks the security of his father’s kingdom while he is
away; I believe he sees you as a threat to that.”

“His father still lives,” I said.

“A figurehead,” Bohun said. “You know that.
We all face the ambitions of the younger generation, and I am one
generation older than you. Any man who has seen his son die for an
ideal has faced his own mortality. My grandson must grow stronger
before I die. It is now, with Edward on the verge of leaving for
the Holy Land, that I must take those steps that will secure my
lands for him.”

“Surely Edward wouldn’t deny your grandson
his inheritance?” I said. “He forgave you for fighting on the
losing side.”

“It was my son at Evesham, not me,” Bohun
said. “I paid the fines. On top of which, I am Edward’s godfather
and he knows me well. He’d prefer that every one of the barons of
the Marche were at each other’s throats, as that will mean they
won’t be at his or his father’s while he’s away. For him to refuse
me my lands would only bring instability to the region in his
absence. He knows that. Edward is a calculating bastard if there
ever was one.”

“You speak frankly,” I said. “I’m
surprised.”

“You expected me to pay you for my grandson
in gold?”

“No,” I said. “You are correct in thinking
it was information I wanted. Do you have more to tell me?”

“I can speak to you of Clare,” Bohun said,
“and Mortimer.”

Christ!
“The both of them chafe at me
like pebbles in my shoe,” I said. “News of Clare’s building plans
is what brought me south in the first place, but it is Roger
Mortimer who’s been much in my thoughts of late.”

“You don’t have to worry about Clare as
yet.” Bohun waved his hand dismissively. “He’s not done more than
dropped a few stones on the ground so far. No, his plans are to
bring you south and bring you down.”

“How?”

“That I don’t know. Gilbert de Clare was my
ward four years ago when he inherited his lands, and fought
alongside my son until he betrayed us for Edward. Does Edward trust
him? I don’t think he trusts anyone. Does Mortimer? I only know
that you have done something to garner Mortimer’s ire and rumor has
it that he hates you with an inspired passion.”

I put down my cup to study Bohun who chewed
avidly on a piece of parsley. “I supported Montfort against the
King,” I said. “Mortimer was the king’s staunchest ally through
loss and triumph. He carries a grudge against me three years on,
but not against you?”

“You’re the easier target,” Bohun said. “And
you have no heir to your lands.”

“Do you suppose they think to use Clare as
their weapon?”

“That is exactly what I think,” Bohun said.
“And Clare is young enough still to seek to please them as proof of
his allegiance.”

“And despite
your
allegiance to the
English crown, you can’t abide Clare.”

“The whoreson burned Montfort’s boats and
the bridge across the Severn at Gloucester! I’m surrounded by men
whose honor is a thin sheen through which they manipulate the
world, easily swept aside at the first hint that it might serve
them better to be without it!”

“I have always been constant,” I said. “I’ve
only bowed to necessity.”

“Well, there is that. I can only say the
same.”

We both lifted our glasses, thinking of all
the times we’d had to bend our knees, our necks, and the honor we
had left, despite Meg’s staunch admiration, to an English king or
to necessity in order to hold onto our lands, lands we only held at
the king’s pleasure. I, at least, had Wales and the Welsh people as
a patrimony. Bohun’s right to his lands was more ephemeral. His
family had carved their estates out of lands that had once belonged
to others and could again. He’d lost his son at Evesham. Even if
Humphrey didn’t realize it today, he was Bohun’s most precious
possession.

* * * * *

“We must see now, to Clare,” I said to Meg.
We stood on the battlements above the gate and watched the Bohuns
exit through the northern castle gate and follow the road east to
England. They rode side by side at the head of Bohun’s men. The
elder Bohun hadn’t castigated his grandson in public, but I
wouldn’t have wanted to be in Humphrey’s shoes when his grandfather
admonished him in private.
That
would be a tongue lashing to
remember.

The scouts I’d sent south had returned an
hour earlier. “It is as you suspected, my lord,” Bevyn had
reported. He was the youngest of the group but the other men
respected his intelligence and ability and allowed him to speak for
them all. “A few stakes in the ground are all that Clare has
placed. However, of more significance are the preparation for
defensive dams and moats.”

“We spoke with people in a village nearby,”
Rhodri continued. “They claim it will be the largest castle every
built—even in the whole of England!”

“So the Red Earl has plans, does he?” I
said. “We’ll see about that.”

“King Henry will support you, surely,”
Goronwy had said. “It’s your land.”

Tudur snorted. “Not likely. The King won’t
be pleased to know that Clare is playing fast and loose with our
treaty, within only a few months of its confirmation, but within
the Marche, the King has tied his own hands long since.”

“Marcher lords are allowed to wage war on
one another without royal interference,” Goronwy said. “But Prince
Llywelyn is not included in that understanding.”

“So
we
say,” said Tudur. “Clare
doesn’t seem to be paying attention.”

“Then I will make him,” I said.

Even as I dictated the letter to King Henry
objecting to Clare’s actions, the Earl of Hereford’s parting words
stayed with me, hovering in the back of my mind like the warning
they were: “You have a warrior at your threshold in Mortimer. Don’t
allow the Red Earl to distract you such that you lose this castle.
It is
my
castle, remember, and I expect it back in good
condition, when you’re done with it.”