Pity. She could go for a good besmirching. Good judgment got the better of her, however, and she kept the suggestion to herself. Clearly, he knew his fair share of tarts and wenches. She didn’t need to be part of the group.
“Thank you for being so chivalrous. And, thank you for saying you’d miss me. For the record, if we were to part, I’d miss you in ways that words fail me to describe too.”
He picked up the sack of food. She took it from him and he placed his free hand on the small of her back. “The flat spot in the shade there,” he tipped his chin toward a sandy spot free of river detritus. “Your hair smells nice.”
What an off-the-wall comment. She smiled to herself. Maybe not so off-the-wall from a man who apparently didn’t give many compliments. She suspected this was as smooth as he knew how to be, his idea of what a lady wants to hear.
“Thank you. I put a wee bit of lavender in the water when I rinse it after a shampoo.”
Simon didn’t bother to wear armor on their ride, although he did bring his sword, which hung in a ring on his belt. She hadn’t paid attention to the leather pouch which hung on the other hip. He pulled a lightweight blanket from it and spread it on the ground. “Milady.” He gestured for her to sit and he lowered himself with little awkwardness facing her.
Emily emptied the food sack. Lint from who knows what stuck to everything. She had to wipe everything off. She raised her overskirt and cleaned them using a patch of lacy underdress the seamstress had made special for Emily. The flash of undergarment and ankle accomplished what she wanted. Simon pretended he didn’t look but he had. She saw his surreptitious glances.
The possibility of going home popped into her thoughts again. Could she talk Simon into coming too? Modern orthopedics could fit him with a blade leg. He’d be able to walk without a crutch. He’d see his best friend again. What would his expectations of her be?
Chapter Seventeen
When Simon and Emily returned, Julia, the alewife, was in the bailey making another delivery. She and Richard were deep in conversation and she laughed at something he said. She’d woven a blue ribbon through her braid and the dress she wore today fit her better than the one she had worn the first time Emily and Electra saw her. The tighter fit revealed a curvy, small-waisted-woman, what people referred to as an hourglass shape.
“She’s sweet on him, you know,” Emily said to Simon.
“I know. Richard is a man who keeps his own counsel and shy as a field mouse to boot. I’ve subtly suggested Julia would be a lady worth courting.”
Richard waved Simon over and Emily followed, thinking there might be some fun gossip being shared.
“The messengers have returned from London. King John met with them and if our prisoner is Comte Marchand, the king says his people will definitely ransom him.”
“Did he tell our men anything specific about Marchand that allows us to determine if the prisoner is indeed the wealthy comte?” Simon asked.
Richard nodded. “The true Comte defeated Henri Capet in a joust five years ago in Rouen. King John was present at the event.”
“Henri Capet,” Simon repeated, his brows notching up. “Capet is the finest jouster in all of France. If true, and the man in our dungeon is the same comte, I admit to being impressed.”
Emily wanted to explode with excitement but she didn’t dare react, not after Simon caught her talking with Roger and Oliver. If they freed Roger, he was Electra’s best hope, only hope, of going home. Once she was away from the Prince, they’d come for Emily. For the first time since Electra left, the chance of getting back to their real time seemed within reach.
“Are you going to question Marchand now?” she asked in a neutral voice.
“Yes,” Richard said.
“May I come too?”
“Emily, the dungeon is no place for a lady. I thought I made that clear,” Simon replied.
“With you and Richard there, I’m safe. Please.”
“I don’t see the harm,” Richard said.
“All right.” Simon hooked her arm through his. “You’re not to get close to the cell. Understand?”
“Yes.” Emily sent a silent thank you to the heavens. If she could learn when the ransom might arrive, she’d send Electra a private message. She’d send another when they released Roger and Oliver. If the stars aligned right, even if they couldn’t find a way out of this place and time, Roger could take Electra to France. Electra would be safe with him there, safer than with the prince. Funny how she only associated the idea of relocating to France with Electra and Roger. She’d think about the meaning of that later, if she was forced.
****
When they reached the corner of the cell, Simon had her stand against the opposite wall. “Stay here.”
Roger and Oliver both stood and approached Richard who stood at the cell door. Simon joined him. “You claim to be the Comte Marchand,” he said to Roger.
“I am.”
“You ever compete in jousting competitions?”
Roger looked puzzled but said, “I have.”
“Who are some of the most challenging knights you faced? The ones you defeated.”
Roger still looked puzzled but named several men, one of whom was Henri Capet.
Richard said nothing, letting Simon conduct the interrogation. “When did you face Henri Capet?”
“Five years ago. From your questions, I take it you inquired about me to the King. He was there the day Capet lost to me.”
Richard finally spoke. “The Baron wants one thousand ecus. How soon can your staff provide this?”
“Immediately.”
Emily wondered how much an ecu was and when had the amount been settled upon. Neither he, nor Simon, had talked price on the way to the dungeon.
Richard and Simon looked skeptical. “How is it you can pay such an amount in one day when your King cannot pay his ransom yet?” Richard asked.
“I cannot answer for how the King spends his money.”
“Five-thousand ecus,” Simon interjected.
“Do you intend on negotiating so far up that ransom is out of the question?” Roger asked.
“Can you provide five-thousand and we will quit there?” Simon countered.
“Yes.”
“We’ll send a rider at first light,” Richard said.
“What about me?” It was Oliver.
“You’re just a traitor. There’s no one to exchange ransom for you.”
Oliver shot Roger a panicked look. “I have done nothing. I beg you to release me when this man’s freedom is arranged,” he said, gesturing to Roger.
“I will ransom him as well.” Roger turned from Oliver to Richard. “How much do you want for the old man? He did nothing but obey my bidding out of fear. He can do you no harm now.”
More than anything Emily wanted to plead for Oliver’s release. If only Simon knew the real reason for Oliver’s accompanying Roger, he’d certainly relent. If he did, Richard would agree. Much as she wanted to, begging or making any suggestion or scene would only result in Simon banishing her.
Richard tipped his head for Simon to follow him. Emily tip-toed closer and overheard their conversation in spite of their whispering. “What do you think?” Richard asked Simon.
“I am loathe to release a possible traitor. I wish I could come up with a way to prove his intent, one way or the other. If he is indeed innocent, and we have the opportunity to obtain more ransom for young Geoffrey, I’d hate to pass that up.”
They stood there quietly eyeing Oliver. Whatever was going through their minds, it was unreadable to Emily. At least they didn’t look grim, like they were considering hanging the poor man. That was something in Oliver’s favor, she hoped.
“I’ve an idea,” Simon said, and the two went back to where Oliver stood, waiting, looking like a rabbit in a cobra cage.
“In our previous meeting, you claim to be a...” Simon leaned over and whispered to Richard, who whispered something in Simon’s ear in return. “An astrop
hysicist, a person no Englishman other than yourself has ever claimed to be.”
“No one claims it because no one knows what the devil that is,” Richard chimed in.
“I’m a scientist. Astrophysics is my field of specialty,” Oliver explained.
“Scientist. Bah. What a load of drivel. That tells us nothing. Offer up a reason for us to trust you, other than mewling about being forced to aid the Frenchman,” Simon said.
“Tell us more about this specialty?” Richard asked.
“I have studied various theories on the time-space continuum and conducted many experiments on the subject.”
Everyone stared at Oliver. She and Roger in stunned disbelief that he’d go down a road he had no chance of explaining in any credible way. Simon and Richard looked at Oliver like he’d just taken off his human being suit and now revealed a Martian.
Simon’s blank expression morphed into the angry face of a man who believed he was being made sport of and about to thrash the perpetrator.
Groaning, Roger said with some heat, “I can’t believe that’s the answer you went with.”
Richard reached through the bars and grabbed a handful of Oliver’s shirt and pulled him close enough for the man’s nose to touch the iron. “You think we are fools.”
If anyone was going to lose his temper and physically threaten Oliver, Emily was sure it would be Simon, never the calm, cordial Richard.
“You might as well skip ahead and request a new rope for the hanging,” Roger told him, lifting his head, talking down to the older man.
“We have ample supply of rope,” Richard said, releasing Oliver.
Oliver turned to Richard and Simon. “I do not think you fools.” He said to Roger, “I didn’t know what else to say other than the truth.” He turned back to Simon. “Have you ever heard of the Greek philosophers?”
“No,” Simon said.
“I heard of a few when I was young. The priests who taught me railed against them,” Richard said. “What of them?”
“That’s akin to what I do. I think about vague possibilities and see if I can make them happen.”
Simon spit. “In other words, you’re an idler, although you look well fed for a vagabond.”
Richard stepped away and gestured for Simon to join him again. They whispered too low for Emily to hear this time. Whatever Richard suggested caused Simon to glance over at Oliver and shake his head no.
“This doesn’t look good,” Oliver said, he and Roger watching them.
“No, it doesn’t.”
Richard continued and managed to convince Simon of his plan. They stepped back to the cell. “Give us something useful and we’ll consider releasing you with Frenchy,” Richard told Oliver.
“Like what?”
“You said you do experiments. Do those until you find something we like. You have until our messenger returns from France.”
“But—”
“He accepts your offer,” Roger said.
“I’ve no materials,” Oliver sputtered.
“Tell the guard who brings your dinner what you need and we’ll send it down to you. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Good. We’re done here.” Simon took Emily’s arm in his and escorted her out with Richard right behind.
Once they were gone, a panicked Oliver began to pace the cell. “What can I make for them to use?”
“I don’t know.”
“I wonder if I could fashion a simple handgun?”
“Have you lost your mind? You can’t give these people a handgun. That would throw a major monkey wrench in how history plays out.” Roger had a vision of the topsy-turvy effect on the next seven centuries a handgun, even a simple one, might have on both their countries. “What is it with you and guns? For a man who’s never shot one, you’re obsessed.”
“American gangster movies. I grew up watching them, still do on DVD. Great dialogue: ‘I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse,’ ‘Made it ma, top of the world,’ ‘Just when I thought I was out,’ ‘they pull me back in.’” Oliver made a jerking motion imitating the Silvio Dante character imitating Al Pacino.
“Better think of something to impress those two English gangsters, or you’ll be imitating a Hang ‘Em High character.”
Chapter Eighteen
Elysian Fields
Early June, 1357
Someone kicked Roger’s foot.
“Why’d you wake me?” He woke from his nap groggy and more tired than when he dozed off. He didn’t often remember his dreams but the one Oliver had awakened him from was vivid in his head. He’d dreamt he was in the nearby river, swimming to where Electra was in Wales. In real life, he couldn’t swim. Oh, on hot days he’d wade out waist deep in the Normandy waters of La Manche. Once his son Yves was out of his infancy, he’d ride the boy around on his shoulders playing in the surf. But he never actually learned to swim. Why he’d dream he was didn’t make sense but the few dreams he remembered rarely did. He yawned twice, back-to-back. Performing a task he had no skill at, if only in a dream, had left him exhausted.
Oliver sat next to him on the floor but Jack-in-the-boxed up again. “I’m too excited to sit. I know what I’ll make.”
“What?” Roger asked, swatting at a rat who stopped to chew the leather lacing on his boot. The animal leapt out of range of Roger’s hand to hunker down in the corner.
“A periscope.”
Not a bad choice, Roger thought. They hadn’t been available to the English or the French at the time of the war. He knew from living in the modern world, huge ones were used in naval warfare on nuclear submarines and the like. The battles between France and England in this period were land skirmishes. They’d be useful on land too.
“Have you made one before?”
“Course not.”
“How do you know you can?”
“I don’t for certain, but I think I can make a primitive one. You won’t let me attempt a gun.”
“You Tube, where art thou?” The only videos he’d seen were funny ones friends sent. For once, the medium might be of use. “If you are able to fashion a periscope, you should persuade them it is a good defense tool.”
Roger stood and stretched. The movement filled the air around him with the scent of sour sweat. That unpleasant whiff of himself assaulted his senses. It had to have traveled over to Emily on her visit, as embarrassing odors generally do go the distance. Poor woman, it probably brought a tear to her eye.
“Does it alter the future too much? If so, then I’m dead in the water because I haven’t a backup idea for something to impress them,” Oliver asked, pacing as he talked.
Roger cupped his hands and dipped them into the water bucket. He splashed the cool water over his face and wiped the back of his neck. “I say go with what you got. If one or the other, or both of us disappear, then we know you meddled too much,” he said, drying his face with the tail of his filthy shirt. “Have you made a mental list of what you need for your periscope? You’ll have to keep the parts simple. Consider the period you’re working in. We didn’t have quality mirrors like you do.”
“I thought of that. I think...hope I can make the adjustment so the piece is bare minimum, effective. I just need it useful enough to get me out of here with you.”
“When the night guard comes with our food, we’ll tell him what we need.”
“I’d like to talk to their armourer. I’ll need him to fashion some of the pieces.” He flinched as he passed too close to the waste bucket. “I’m also excited at the prospect of smelling fresh air again.”
“If they let us out, an accidental run-in with Emily would be convenient. Highly improbable, but convenient.” The three times Roger saw her, she wasn’t as unhappy looking as he expected. Why? If he was a gambling man, he’d wager on the Captain of the Guard, Simon, being the reason. Simon definitely fancied her. Roger had seen that same brightness in the eyes of his men whenever one became besotted. Simon was good at shielding his feelings but no
t as good as Roger was at reading them. “What else will you need?”
Oliver ticked the necessary equipment off his fingers. “A carpenter to fashion the rectangular wooden box and metal discs from the armourer should do it.”
“Not much of a periscope.”
“I told you it would be primitive. It doesn’t need to be fancy, only operational.”
****
They told the guard they needed to speak with Simon and Richard. Since the evening meal hadn’t been served in the great hall yet, the two men came down right away.
“You have a science object you wish to present to us,” Richard said.
“Yes, but we require the services of two of your tradesmen, the armourer and a carpenter.”
“Where does this we come in? You are the so-called science person, not him.” Simon jerked his head in Roger’s direction.
“He’s helping me.”
Roger wasn’t sure what he could do to help Oliver, but he’d do whatever he could just to stay outside for a while.
“Let’s go while we still have the light,” Richard told Simon.
Simon let Roger and Oliver out of the cell. He and Richard positioned themselves so Richard was in the front and Simon brought up the rear with the prisoners sandwiched in-between. Simon frowned and waved his hand in front of his face as the men went by him.
“Who do you wish to speak to first?” Richard asked.
“The armourer. If he is unable to assist me, then I won’t have need of the carpenter.”
Out in the bailey, Roger took a quick scan to see if Emily was around but she wasn’t. The Elysian Fields armourer also served as their blacksmith. Short and stout, the man wore no shirt just a leather apron over ragged-hemmed breeches common to farmers and other tradesmen. As the four approached, the smithy stopped his work shaping a horseshoe.
He nodded at Simon and Richard but paid no attention to the prisoners. “What can I do for you?”
“This man wants your help in making something, we don’t know what yet,” Richard said. “You explain.”
He stepped aside and Simon shoved Oliver forward.
In Time for You Page 18