“That’s never going to happen. Not while I still breathe. Is there any possible way I can sneak in by means of the bridge side?”
“No, too many checkpoints.”
“I thought so but had to ask. I didn’t see any weak spots on the walls.”
“The only way you stand a chance is the gate on the river’s side.”
“The river’s side.”
“What’s wrong...other than the obvious?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me. I can hear it in your voice. Something is wrong.”
“Nothing. Honestly.”
He was quiet for a moment. Electra assumed he was making a plan. “Can you get to the riverbank tonight after the evening meal?” he asked.
“No. The Prince is entertaining some local VIP. He expects a banquet. I’ll be at his beck and call to deliver whatever he asks for. If I go missing, he’ll turn the grounds and surroundings upside down.”
The door to the nave opened and they both went silent. Footsteps came their way. Neither door of the confessional had a view of the cathedral’s interior. The footsteps were light. Electra lifted a silent prayer it was nun passing through and not a parishioner who might linger and choose to lift prayers of their own. Whoever it was, they moved on past. She cracked the door open to make sure.
“We’re alone,” she said, closing the door.
“Tomorrow then?”
“Yes. I finish in the kitchens right after the evening meal but I’ll wait until nightfall to meet you at the riverbank.”
“I’ll come as soon as the moon is up. It’s only a crescent this time of the month, so the light is at its weakest.”
“We’re going south to rescue Emily then, aren’t we?”
“Of course. We’ll head for Liverpool and try to find a boat going south. It’s the fastest way back.”
“Tomorrow.” Electra couldn’t help herself and rushed to him. She couldn’t leave without holding Roger, fearing this might be her last time to do so. A big part of her worried he’d fail and get caught. If that happened, she didn’t know what the Prince would do. It was entirely possible whoever captured him would kill Roger outright.
She hugged him tighter than ever before. “I love you. I love you so very much.” She kissed him with all the love and power a last kiss carries.
“I love you,” he said, cupping her face. “I don’t care which century it is. You’re mine, now and forever.”
He threaded his hands through her hair and returned her kiss with equal passion. He must’ve sensed what was in her heart. “Do not make yourself sick with worry. It’s going to be all right. Nothing and no one will keep me from you again.”
“I won’t. I’m stronger than you think.”
“You best go before Tweedledum and Tweedledee come looking for you.”
It surprised her he knew the Alice in Wonderland reference. But then he was good at surprising her. Good grief, he’d found a way to come back in time for her.
“Until tomorrow.” Electra looked back when she reached the doors, but he was gone. She held on but once she stepped onto the church steps, the tears flowed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Conwy, Wales
“Oh dear, the river is it, the only way?” Oliver lamented.
“Seems so.” All afternoon, Roger’s thoughts never ventured far from that reality. “I’m not overly concerned,” Roger lied. “We’ll search out a boat someone has dragged onto the bank and left. A small rowboat will do. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“I can’t help wishing we had some other way. This is your nightmare come to life.”
Roger didn’t need the reminder. “As long as I’m in a boat, I’m fine. Tonight I’ll take one side of the riverbank and you go the opposite direction. Let’s see if we can scout out a vessel. I don’t want to risk not locating one tomorrow.”
****
Oliver waited for Roger where they agreed to meet following their search. Roger had walked two kilometers without seeing a boat, which he found unusual. In Normandy, the beach by his chateau was dotted with small boats the locals used to fish from. They weren’t elaborate or sturdy enough to take very far from shore but suited as an additional way to put fish on the table.
In his old lifetime, he liked to fish when the weather permitted. It was a relaxing way to spend a morning or afternoon. Thoughts of his late wife’s love for another man or the persistent heartache over the death of his son, or the frustration of the King’s rising war tax all drifted away. If he caught something, great, if not, that was fine too, although he usually caught a bucketful. Whether he and Electra wound up back in the modern world, or escaped to his chateau and spent their days in this time, he’d start fishing again.
“How’d you do? Find anything useful?” Roger asked as he joined Oliver.
“I did. It’s a worn, old wooden beast, but she only has to float.”
“Where?”
“A kilometer past the estuary.”
“As soon as we’re finished for the day tomorrow, we’ll set up on the spot. The owner will likely leave for home by dusk. We’ll take it then and wait until dark to bring it ashore.”
“I feel bad leaving John in the lurch. He did, after all, take us on as helpers. He’ll wonder where we’ve disappeared to,” Oliver said.
“I know. I don’t like it either. If I had extra funds, I’d leave him some money to compensate. We don’t dare tell him we’re leaving as it might arouse suspicion.”
Oliver accepted the situation, nodding in agreement.
****
Roger took a deep breath. In battle, he only thought to fight, to try and win, and hopefully to live to see the next sunrise. The fate of the battle was out of his hands. That made the end, whatever it might be, easier to face than what he faced this night. Tonight, Electra’s fate was his to secure for good or to fail at, placing her in peril.
At dusk the next night they watched the spot where Oliver had seen the boat. As predicted, a poorly dressed man set his oars in the locks and hopped out when he was close to shore, pulling the boat up onto the bank.
After the man was out of sight, Roger pushed the boat into the water with Oliver’s help. When he was knee deep, he leapt inside and took up the oars while Oliver scrambled in behind. There was only one set of oars. Roger rowed and Oliver kept his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble. They reached the mouth of the harbor to the rear of the castle and Roger ceased rowing. In the fading light, he’d rowed into a spot where a large pod of seals gathered. A chorus of animals barked their protest at the intruders. A flicker of panic shot through Roger that the racket would attract the attention of the men on the walls, but he didn’t see any extra activity.
The sky finally turned dark blue and the crescent moon provided all the light needed to see Electra’s silhouette on the sandy bank.
Roger rowed like a Viking with a Saxon monastery in his sight. The current was swift and strong and pulled against his effort. For every ten feet forward, he lost three to the water’s opposing force. He unwittingly rowed into the path of more powerful current than they’d encountered so far. He dipped the oars deep but couldn’t keep the boat on course. A loud thump followed a violent push of the current that sent the boat into the jagged rocks that lined the western shore. He thought his strength would give out but Roger finally pulled away from the dangerous shoreline.
“Oh dear,” Oliver said. “We’ve sprung a leak.”
“What?”
“The rocks put a gash in the side. We’re taking on water but not too badly. I’ll bail what I can.”
“Damnation.”
“We won’t be able to use this to escape,” Oliver said, huffing as he bailed.
“One worry at a time.”
They didn’t get far. Something was wrong—very wrong. Roger put his whole back into the rowing, but the boat barely moved. A heavy weight in the stern wrenched the boat further down into the water. He turned to see, Oliver bailing like mad. “I though
t you said we weren’t taking on much water.”
“There’s a second gash, a nasty one I didn’t see right away. I’m sorry.”
“Keep bailing. I’ve got to try to get us in closer to where the water isn’t over my head. I can wade ashore if it’s only chest deep.”
The back end dipped hard and as Oliver shifted toward Roger, the boat tipped, spilling both men into the river. The dark, frigid water momentarily shocked Roger before he got his bearings. He lifted his arms high to stroke his way to the surface, but his tall boots filled fast, dragging him down. The roar from the rush of water filled his ears as he floated. Then, the roar turned silent. He tried to get the boots off but the wet leather wouldn’t give.
He thrashed, pushing, fighting upward when a swift crosscurrent sent him tumbling. In his panic, he accidentally inhaled. Water surged through his nose, burning like acid. When he finally stopped spinning, he flailed and beat at the water with all his strength, hoping to find the surface again or even grab onto a piece of the boat, anything. He pumped with his legs and bumped something with his foot. If it was part of a submerged rock shelf, he’d crawl his way up. He reached both arms out.
Instead of expected rock, his fingers curled into the soft sand. Disoriented by the tossing and turning of the crosscurrent, he’d sunk to the bottom.
Someone hooked an arm around his neck and tugged, then let go. They reached again and found the collar of his shirt but again let go. He thought his lungs might explode and he desperately wanted to open his mouth and take a breath. Then, the feeling passed and strange thoughts floated in and out of his head. He let go, let himself drift.
His eyes closed. He was dying. He wasn’t afraid. He’d faced death many times in battle. He’d willingly face death again, anytime, anyplace, just not now. Not now.
****
Someone pressed their hands repeatedly on his chest. Foul-tasting water spewed from his mouth and ran down his chin. Blinking, his vision blurred, he pushed the hands away and turned onto his side.
“Roger. Roger.” A woman shouted his name. Electra? She sounded far away. He pushed himself up to his knees. A coughing fit racked him and he vomited water several times. When the worst had passed he sat back and sucked in great gulps of air. He tipped his head to the left and right to let the water run out his ears. He turned as Electra wrapped her arms around him.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she said.
He pulled her close and held her tight, grim in the knowledge he failed. Next to her sat Oliver. Behind them a dripping wet guard sat on the ground putting on his boots as a dry guard stood by.
“You pulled me out?” Roger asked the wet guard.
The guard nodded.
“I’m so sorry,” Oliver interjected. “I tried to pull you out but didn’t have the strength. “Thank heavens these two got to you with a boat from the castle.”
“All I wanted was to save you and I’ve failed.” He kissed Electra, he figured for the last time. The guards would have him before the prince in a thrice. From there it was anybody’s guess what would happen to him.
“Don’t talk like that. I won’t have it. You’re alive and that’s all that matters,” she said, wet streaks on her cheeks glistening in the pale moonlight. He couldn’t tell if they were tears or from his damp self.
“How did you see us from the wall?” he asked the dry guard.
“We didn’t. The lady screamed for help. We were on the rear gate standing watch. We ran to her and she pointed out the spot your boat sank.”
Roger stood and asked, “I expect you’ll be taking me to the Prince.”
“Where else, Frenchman?” the wet one said. “Go on then, gates straight ahead.”
A cool breeze from the distant Irish Sea blew over him and Roger began to shiver, his cold, wet shirt clinging to him. He couldn’t stop shaking. Circumstances were bad enough without the humiliation of the Prince thinking he was trembling in fear.
Electra picked up Roger’s drenched boots and poured out the water that remained inside. “I suppose you’ll want me to go with them to Edward?”
The guard snorted. “I think he will be most interested in hearing what you were doing on the shore as a Frenchie just happened to be coming your way.”
“Right,” she said and sighed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Conwy, Wales
“Stop,” the dry guard ordered. He stood Roger, Oliver, and Electra side by side in front of Prince Edward.
Roger wanted Electra out of harm’s way of whatever punishment the Prince might inflict. He blurted, “Your Highness, Electra had nothing—”
“Cease. You’ve not been given permission to speak,” the Prince said without looking up.
The prince sat behind a large oak desk with legs carved to look like antlers. He was in the process of reading one missive while a rolled stack of more sat to his left. On the desk to his right sat a Royal Seal, a red wax stick, a brass inkwell, and a thick candle clock. The stack of missives most likely came from local nobles and gentry seeking adjudication on local law issues or requests for special attention paid to their particular needs or desires. Even though he was far from having the influence of a Prince, Roger often found himself in the same position as Edward. Tenants and tradesmen petitioned him for dispute rulings or relief from tax for one reason or another.
The rest of the chamber was what Roger would expect from such a high ranking royal. A large fireplace with a leek pattern carved across the mantel was the focal point on one wall. In the center of the opposite wall was a huge bed heavily draped in purple velvet. Edward’s personal badge, a gold crown with three white ostrich feathers extending from it and the motto Ich Dien on a blue background was carved into the wooden housing for the bed rails. At the foot was a chest high as a man’s thigh and almost as wide as the bed. His armor, sword, and helm were hung on a stand next to a table with a basin for washing and a pitcher.
What surprised Roger was the prie-dieu. The castle had to have a chapel. Most castles in the time did. He’d have thought the Prince would prefer to be seen praying there. Leaded glass had been installed in all the windows. Impressive. Roger had glass installed in all his windows at the chateau the year before Poitiers—at enormous expense.
Edward looked up at the threesome before him.
“What’s this then?” he asked. “Electra, do you know these men?”
“I do, Your Highness. This man...” she indicated Roger, “is the man I love. If you recall, I spoke to you of loving someone. The other gentleman is a friend of his. A man of good heart and great kindness.”
“The one she claims is her love is a Frenchman, milord,” the dry guard said. “He and the old man were caught by us approaching the rear of the castle.” He pointed to Electra. “The cook was waiting for them on the shore. She knew they were coming.”
Edward put his quill and the missive down and shifted his gaze to Electra. His unreadable expression hearing the guard’s news never changed. “Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“Your lover is my father, the King’s, enemy. A fact you neglected to mention when you spoke of him.” He turned his attention to Roger. “Who are you, sir?”
“I am the Comte Marchand of Normandy.”
“The Comte Marchand. I know of you,” the prince said. “You were on the field of battle at Poitiers. Is that not so?”
“I was.”
“I recognized your banner from afar.”
The Prince eyed Electra. “Your gown is a mess. Go and change. I’ll send for you, if I’ve need of speaking with you.”
“Please, may I stay? It’s important to—”
Edward told the guards, “Escort her to her chamber.” Then, he turned to the clerk. “Leave us.”
He waited until the three of them were alone. “You shake,” he said to Roger.
“The river was quite cold.”
Edward stood and retrieved his cloak from the chest and pulled a coverlet from the bed. He handed the c
loak to Roger and the coverlet to Oliver. Both men thanked him.
“I’m surprised you knew my banner,” Roger said, wrapping the cloak around himself. “I know yours, but you’re a prince.”
“I know your badge, a panther on an orange field, from the jousting circuit. You defeated Henry Capet.” Edward stacked several logs onto the fireplace grate and lit them, stoking the flames to a satisfactory height.
Roger smiled at the second mention of the victory. Simon had mentioned the contest the day the ransom money arrived. Everyone knew Capet was a snake with legs, universally despised. “It was a long time ago, Your Highness.”
“But the victory still tastes sweet, does it not? I had hoped we’d meet one day at a tournament. I thought to challenge you.” He sighed. “But, the war renewed itself, and it was not to be.”
Edward poured two goblets of wine and handed them to Roger and Oliver. “The wine should please you,” he said. “It’s from France.”
Roger took a swallow. “Very good,” he said with a tip of his head, acknowledging Edward’s choice. Since the prince seemed in an agreeable mood, Roger saw an opportunity. “I’d like to beg mercy for Electra in any decision you make regarding her actions tonight.”
“I don’t wish to speak of her right now. Tell me about some of your more enjoyable tournament challenges. Who have you faced?”
A test. If Roger was who he said, then he’d know many of the same knights as the Prince and where the more important jousts were held.
Roger went through a list of the most popular tournaments and the more illustrious attendees. After a few minutes, Edward said, “Enough.”
Roger wasn’t sure how to interpret the interruption. Thinking to offer another means to prove his identity he suggested, “If you send a rider to Elysian Fields, they can verify I was imprisoned there a short time ago and my people did ransom me.”
Edward waved a dismissive hand. “Are you hungry?”
“We both are.”
The Prince glanced over at Oliver and shifted his gaze back to Roger. “Yes, I’m sure he is too. You will stay in one of my guest chambers tonight. I’ll have a meal sent to you. You’ll join me tomorrow and I shall have my challenge on the jousting field.”
In Time for You Page 24