Free Footsteps in Time by Sarah Woodbury Page A

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