Footsteps in Time by Sarah Woodbury Page A

fewer years of accumulated knowledge, it was
impossible not to.
     
    * * * * *
     
    As Anna’s misery abated,
despite the continued absence of hot showers, she became more aware
of the increasing activity in the castle. A martial mentality was
in evidence, with men-at-arms moving purposefully through the
courtyards and more men peopling the great hall at dinner. David
came to her one day to show off his mail armor, though his eyes
were hooded with concern. He sat on a bench near one of the
tables.
    “ I may have to kill
people,” he said. “They expect me to kill people.”
    Anna had been wondering at
what point he’d realize that all the training he was doing would
end in actual warfare in which he was destined to participate.
She’d hoped he would come to her when it happened. Anna hadn’t
exactly come to terms with what had happened at Cilmeri, but as it
was an accident, she tried not to let it bother her. David would be
killing people on purpose, knowingly.
    “ I know,” Anna said. “I’m
sorry.”
    David stared at the floor. “Do you see
an alternative?”
    She’d been thinking about
this since David’s first mock sword fight with a stick. She shook
her head. “We’re in the wrong time, but even in our time it’s not
immoral to fight if you have to—if you are attacked, or to protect
people. You would be defending your people against invaders. If the
English defeat us, Wales ceases to exist as a separate
country.”
    “ True.” Then he continued
softly. “Killing will change me. It harms the soul of anyone who
does it.”
    “ Yes,” Anna said. “It
does.”
    But there was nothing they
could do about it. Wales was at war. On three separate occasions, a
lone man arrived, his horse steaming, having ridden hard from a
distant castle. King Edward of England wasn’t finished with the
Welsh, not by a long shot, even if he’d failed to kill the prince.
Anna’s impression was that Prince Llywelyn was waiting for
something. She didn’t know if the problem lay with his allies,
including his own brother, or a change in English
strategy.
    One day, in the
second week of January, David and Anna came back late from their ride,
with darkness almost upon them by the time they rode through the
gate. David had duties to attend to and hurried through the
grooming of his horse, leaving Anna alone in the stables.
    After he left, she
deliberately delayed her own return to the great hall. Wouldn’t it be great if I had something important
to do that needed my immediate attention? She combed her horse’s mane again and again. He was a gentle fellow, ironically named Madoc for
a great prince of Wales, though he was little bigger than a pony.
Bevyn had decided he would suit her, and Anna was very happy with
him. As a child, she’d dreamed of spirited horses and begged for
one of her own, but at seventeen, the reality of them was entirely
different. Small and gentle was just fine with
her.
    Anna was giving Madoc a
farewell pat when an odd creak came from behind her. She looked
around Madoc’s head, but couldn’t see anyone except a groom raking
hay in one of the stalls. The torchlight revealed no unfamiliar
shadows.
    “ Hello?” she called, in
Welsh.
    An arm slipped around her waist and a
gravelly voice said. “Hello, missy.” Alcohol fumes wafted past as
the man hugged Anna to him.
    “ Excuse me.” Anna batted
at the man’s hand, but he didn’t let go. The stable boy stood
twenty paces away, and their eyes met. He dropped his broom and
raced out the stable door.
    Great. I would’ve
liked some help. The man slobbered
disgustingly in Anna’s ear. She didn’t know who he was, didn’t
recognize his voice, and didn’t care. Taking matters into her own
hands, Anna stepped to her left, her right hand clenched in a tight
fist, and swung it into the man’s groin. As he bent over in reflex,
she turned and met his face with a strong punch from the left. The
man collapsed to the ground, groaning.
    Anna poked him