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Every once in a while, a rogue wave would splash over the side of the small craft, wetting Catrin’s cloak and reminding her of their vulnerability in the open sea. A small puddle had already collected at the bottom of the boat, and water had seeped into her shoes and up the hem of her gown. But she said nothing. She was on her way to Conwy and would likely reach the town before the sun came up. That was all that mattered.

As the blackness slowly turned to the pale-gray light that preceded dawn, the coast drew near. Fishing vessels filled Conwy harbor, slowly plying their way farther out to sea, and at the dock, the ferry that would head to Beaumaris to pick up Henry and his men sat at anchor. Grateful that there was not yet any sign of activity near the ferry, Catrin leaned forward in her seat, studying the castle looming over the bay.

Although similar in size and grandeur to Beaumaris Castle, Conwy Castle appeared to have been built to a different design, and where Beaumaris Castle was still a work in progress, Conwy Castle was a completed fortress with a protective town wall.

“Are you familiar with Conwy, Elfed?” she asked.

“Been there a few times, my lady,” he wheezed. “But I’m not right comfortable with the place. Too many people, by half.”

“Do you happen to know where I could acquire a horse?”

Elfed pulled the oars through the water a few times, thinking. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed one meself, but if my memory serves me, it seems like there’s a blacksmith just inside the town’s west gate. That might be a good place to start.”

“I hardly know how to thank you, Elfed.”

He gave her his characteristic grin. “Well now, that’s easy. Do whatever you can to make it so those Tudor boys come back home at the end of all this fightin’. Nothing much could top that.” Then he turned his head to gauge his distance to shore, and Catrin braced herself as the boat’s hull grazed the sand.

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Rhys stood, staring at the manuscript on the table. Candlesticks weighed down the corners of the large scroll and illuminated the roughly drawn map.

“So you say Henry’s men marched from Conwy Castle to Horseshoe Pass and then set up camp?”

Emyr nodded. “Yes, Marshal.”

Rhys ran his fingers through his hair. It made no sense. Why would half of Henry’s army suddenly relocate from the well-fortified castle to such a remote spot in the Welsh hills?

“Your thoughts, Gwilym?”

His brother stared at the map, much as he’d been doing. “When Henry decides to return to England, he could choose to go this way or this way or this way.” Gwilym ran his finger along three different routes that connected Anglesey to the English border. “Going through Horseshoe Pass into Llangollen is one option, but why has he sent half his army on ahead?”

Rhys frowned at the map, willing it to give him the answers he sought. Upon his and Maredudd’s return from Anglesey, he’d followed Elfed’s counsel and sent Emyr and Dyfan back to Conwy to monitor the activity of the men Henry had left at the castle. It had obviously been a wise move.

“A diversion, perhaps?” Maredudd said.

“’Tis possible.” Rhys pondered that idea. “Henry may wish to distract us, have us engaged elsewhere whilst he and his men remove from Anglesey.”

“But he cannot know that we have been watching the castle,” Gwilym said. “If he wanted a distraction, he would have made the relocation of his men known far and wide.”

“When did the English quit the castle, Emyr?” Rhys asked.

“In the early hours of the morning, Marshal. Long before the locals were abroad.”

The brothers exchanged glances.

“Then I would hazard a guess that Henry does not wish us to know of it,” Rhys said.

“And so we act,” Gwilym said.

It was the logical thing to do. If Henry was hiding something, they should surely go after it. And yet Rhys held back. There was something that did not feel quite right.

“Where is Dyfan now?” he asked.

“He’s keeping watch at the pass, Marshal,” Emyr said. “Once we determined the English were settling in for the night, I came back to report.”

“You have done well,” Rhys said.

“The day is still young.” Gwilym had his hand on the hilt of his sword, a sure sign that he was ready for battle. “If we organize the men right away, we can reach Horseshoe Pass on the morrow.”