“All right then, your choice.” Roger lifted his glass in toast.
Chapter Seven
Gloucester
Date: 1357
Electra spent a restless night. She’d doze off only to wake a short time later. She debated getting up to see if the world around her remained medieval England, or to joyfully discover she’d had a nightmare. The hope it was a nightmare didn’t rise to the level of being deemed weak. Pathetic was a better description. The bed she shared with Emily was horribly uncomfortable. For starters, the straw-stuffed mattress provided hardly any cushion against the wood plank that lay underneath. If it had been a weird bad dream, her subconscious would’ve conjured up a bed far softer. Even Emily, who slept like the dead at home, tossed and turned.
At first light, Electra gave up on sleep and went to the window. In olden days castle activity began at dawn. That’s what she was taught. Out of curiosity, she wondered if it was true. In her world, the cities, roads, and businesses got busy early in the morning but not dawn early.
A gentle rush of fresh air ruffled her hair as she opened the shutters. The night had been warm and she’d slept in her bra and panties. A light cover was sufficient but the hour held a little nip and a shiver passed over her once and then she was fine. She sat on the embrasure watching the bailey below.
Veins of pink and orange lined the distant horizon. It wouldn’t be long to sunrise. She’d only stayed up to see the sunrise one other time, when Roger took her to Barcelona for a Valentine’s surprise. They stayed in a boutique hotel with a balcony that looked out to the sea. One morning he rousted her from bed and led her out to the balcony where they shared a lounger. He held her close and said he’d seen many a sunrise and wanted to share the beauty of the vibrant colors and the quiet with her.
The sea’s salty air there smelled different than at home, less briny. The mild scent filled the early morning’s cool breeze. Unwilling to spoil the moment, she shivered and huddled against him but didn’t complain. When the sun came up all the way, he wrapped her in a blanket before venturing out for a swim in the chilly waters of the Mediterranean. He’d tried to talk her into joining him, claiming she’d be invigorated. My Aunt Fanny—invigorated. Without a second thought, she snapped her refusal. Splashing and romping in water less than bathtub warm held no appeal for her. Romping and splashing with Roger in the Roman style sunken tub in their hotel room held great appeal. How could it not, with the two of them covered in bubbles, soapy, and slick? Fun stuff.
Roger. If only he’d come along when they picked flowers. He’d be with them now. He’d know what to do.
While she’d daydreamed of Barcelona, the bailey sprang to life. The young boys she’d seen with the dogs the day before hauled buckets to the kennels and filled bowls. Armored men were coming down from the ramparts as their replacements arrived. A young woman with a mass of brown curls barely contained under a white cap came from the barn. She balanced a yoke across her shoulders with a bucket of milk hooked onto each end. Back straight, and without spilling a drop, she walked at a brisk pace toward the rear of the castle. Electra admired her strength. Buckets of liquid weighed a lot.
A party of knights who wore swords but no armor came from the barracks. One broke away to run after the milkmaid and pinch her bottom earning him a big smile and a giggle from the maid. Electra mentally cursed him for being a lout and not helping the maid, then immediately took it back when he removed the buckets. The two disappeared out of sight. Electra bet the girl kissed the knight before saying goodbye. The thought brought another wave of longing for Roger.
Electra hadn’t bothered to check her Seiko when she began her vigil. She couldn’t be sure how long she’d sat there, but the sun had risen and bathed the embrasure in warm light.
She made no effort to be quiet as she dressed in the same gown as the night before. Emily had awakened mid-vigil but refused to rise at first, declaring, “My head tells me I must get up sometime today, but my heart tells me if I wish to be happy with what the day brings, then don’t.”
“If you wish to go home, you’ll need to drag your fanny out of bed so you can explore the possible means of getting there.” Electra tossed Emily’s dress from the previous night onto the bed.
“Do you have a plan for today at least,” Emily asked, climbing out of bed.
“Like I told you last night, I want to see the road to Gloucester.”
“It’s a waste of time. It’s not like you to spin your wheels on a futile hope.”
“I know. The trip also gives me a chance to look for possible options for hiding while we think on our next move. What must we do to stay safe here?” She grabbed her riding boots and sat on the foot of the bed. “Let’s see if we can get our hands on more practical clothing, starting with shoes.”
Their chamber didn’t have any cabinets that could be used for storage or anything resembling an armoire. “The dresses in the chest are pretty fancy. I should think Shakira had everyday clothing stored somewhere else.”
Both finished dressing and putting on their boots. “Let’s find Simon or Richard. I bet they’re at breakfast. Speaking of which, I’m starved,” Emily said.
They opened the chamber door as Simon, hand raised, was about to knock. “Glad to see you didn’t attempt to sneak out during the night.”
Electra thought if you looked up haughty in the dictionary, you’d see Simon’s picture. “No, we’re not so foolish. Besides, how could we? It’s a three-story drop out the window and you had a man at the door.”
“Now I know you didn’t even consider trying. If you had, you’d have seen your door was unguarded by the eleven o’clock hour.”
“Finally, trusting us?” Electra asked.
Emily gave him her cheeriest smile. “I told you we weren’t wicked witches or spies.”
“Trust you? No. I’ve been told a great many lies in my life. I’ve no reason to believe your tale is not among them. No matter. My chamber is down the corridor from yours. You couldn’t leave without going past, and you couldn’t go past without waking me.”
Electra huffed. “Really? In a sound sleep, behind a heavy wood door, you think you’d hear someone tiptoe down the hall?”
“Milady, I am the lightest of sleepers. I can hear a dormouse peeing on a ball of dust.” He gestured for them to leave. “Come along ladies if you wish to eat.”
Electra and Emily’s heavy boots clomped on the stone, reminding Electra to ask about Shakira’s shoes. “Simon, did Lady Shakira store her clothes elsewhere other than the chest in our chamber?”
“Yes. Her main store of clothing was, and still is, in several chests in what was Guy’s chamber. I will have them brought to you.”
Electra perked up. The bedchamber of the Lord and Lady had to be more comfortable than the one Simon had stuck them in. Why not ask to be moved? They might as well see to their comfort until, hopefully, they found a way out. “Simon, if Guy’s bedchamber isn’t being used, can Emily and I take it?”
“It is being used. By me, and no, you cannot have it.”
She would’ve thought Simon slept in the barracks with the other knights. She wanted to ask why he didn’t but wasn’t sure if it had something to do with his injury, which he might feel was prying on her part. She’d agree. It was none of her business. But that didn’t stop Emily.
“Why don’t you sleep in the barracks?” Emily boldly asked.
“I am the Captain of the Guard and have the most experience in warfare. I use my experience to train the others. At first, when I returned to England after Poitiers, I did lodge with the other knights. I found they didn’t take my instructions as seriously as they should with me staying that close among them. I was too much one of them rather than above them.” Simon stood aside to let them go first down the stairs. “ Richard generously gave me the Lord’s old chamber.”
Electra saw a opportunity in his refusal. If they couldn’t finagle the better chamber, at least he might take them to the Gloucester road. “Simon
, once we eat and change into other shoes and clothing, would you have a knight escort us to the Gloucester Road?” she asked.
Simon tugged on her sleeve and pulled her back to where he stopped at the base of the staircase. He eyed her hard. All the suspicion Electra thought they’d made progress eliminating returned. “Why do you wish to go? Is this a trick to try and make off on horseback to hide someplace?”
“You really think we’re stupid enough to try to outrun one of your knights? Where exactly do you believe we’d hide? You saw how well our little face-to-face worked with that farmer Willie Wonka.”
“Wildon. His name is Wildon,” Simon corrected. “There’s no one by the name Wonka in the shire.”
“Whatever. My question remains.”
Emily, who had walked on and was already seated at the table, left her spot next to Richard and came over. “Is there a problem?”
Simon kept his eyes on Electra. “Not yet.” He pressed closer to her. “Understand this. Demanding questions come from me, not you. Why do you wish to see the road?”
“We weren’t lost and then we were. It’s unsettled me. I don’t know where we went wrong. I thought if I saw the road again, I might get an idea.” It wasn’t the best excuse but all she could think of on the spur of the moment.
“I don’t see how it will help much, but I will head the escort. You’ll have no opportunity to stray. Understand?”
The sisters nodded. “Thank you, Simon. We hoped you’d be agreeable,” Emily told him.
He turned to her. “You are not going.”
“Why?”
“Your sister won’t attempt anything unwise with you left behind. Right?” He gave Electra a crooked smile.
“Right,” she said in as pleasant a voice as she could muster considering she really wanted to punch him in the nose. She couldn’t resist adding, “I’m trying so hard to like you and you’re not making it easy.”
He shrugged. “It’s an all day journey. Eat quickly so we can be on our way.”
****
“Well?” Emily asked as Electra rode into the bailey with Simon and another knight.
Electra shook her head. She had expected the worst, and it was, but disappointment still consumed her.
“All foot traffic and horse carts?”
“Yeah. What did you do to keep busy?” Electra asked after dismounting.
“I went through Shakira’s chests. It’s all wearable and she had shoes. I filled the toes of mine with balled up linen scraps. The other pair of plain ones should fit you or close to it. She had two pairs of fancy velvet slipper-style ones with embroidery. Kind of like you’d picture Oscar Wilde or Hugh Hefner to wear.” She kept in step with Electra as they walked toward the hall. “How bad was it?”
“The road isn’t even a major road—more a country village road. A few carts passed us, but it’s just a glorified path through some farms in places.” That wasn’t the worst news since it wasn’t a real surprise. The village of Gloucester sucked the life from Electra when she saw it. The bustling town where she shopped and took her culinary classes, that swarmed with tourists in the season was nothing like the Gloucester Simon showed her. “Gloucester is nothing but a tavern, an apothecary, a brewer, and a smithy who makes farm implements. On second thought, I guess in this day and age, it’s a busy village for a shire far from London.”
“Was Simon nice to you at least?” Emily asked and Electra suspected there was more than sisterly curiosity involved.
“Yes. He spent most of the time chatting with the knight who came with us. Neither paid me much mind.” She lifted her shoulders in an I-don’t-care fashion. “Fine. I concentrated on the surroundings and places we might find refuge if we ever get the chance to split from here.”
“Based on the farmer’s reaction, I think we’re doomed to hide in the forest. Since neither of us has ever gone on a camping trip, I don’t know how we’d survive living off the land so to speak. I think we’d have to rely on stealing.” Emily paused. Electra could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. “Do you think they cut off the hands of thieves in this time?”
“Don’t know. They might hang thieves in 1357 for all I know.” Hanging was a nasty way to go but better than burning, or boiling in oil, or being drawn and quartered. All seemed pretty harsh to Electra for a minor offense like theft. Somehow, some way, she had the feeling if they were to get arrested, they’d wind up on a pyre being chased up to the stake by mad villagers with pitchforks. She’d seen all the Frankenstein movies and read about the Inquisition. It was the medieval answer to a spectator sport.
Inside the hall, Emily led her to a table with wine. “Is escape the only answer? I don’t see any way that can go well for us.” She filled a goblet and handed it to Electra and then poured one for herself.
Electra checked that no one was close by to listen and conceded, “I don’t see a way either, not a truly viable one. Part of me feels it’s wrong for us not to try, to give up. But the logical me says that the best chance for survival is to adapt.”
Emily peeked around the corner and into the kitchen. “Looks like we have some time until the evening meal is ready. Want to sit in the garden for a bit?”
“Sure.” Electra topped off her goblet and put the pitcher down then changed her mind. “What the hell.” She grabbed the ewer too. “Lead on.”
They found a stone bench with a view of the Severn River and sat. For several minutes neither spoke.
Electra broke the silence. “If by some miracle, we are able to return to the modern world, I’m afraid Roger will ask why I didn’t do more to get back to him. That’s a big bugaboo for me. I feel to simply resign ourselves to adapting is to let him down. I feel like I should keep fighting every day to find the way home.”
“We fight in different ways. He has the heart of a warrior. He’s never talked about being in battle, but I bet he’d be the bravest among us. You’re not giving him enough credit. I think he’d understand your decision and admire your ability to survive in this most unusual of circumstances.”
“He is very knight-like, isn’t he? I miss him like crazy.”
“I know.”
Everyone can empathize and sympathize with your situation but neither is much comfort, neither can change anything. Depressed by the thought, Electra rose and went to stand at the edge of the hill, desiring a moment to herself.
Voices from the decks of the cargo ships and fishing boats on the river floated up to where she stood. The sound took Electra aback. She grew up in this shire. The river didn’t have many cargo boats, not in her lifetime. Fishing, yes. Her father and uncles went occasionally. She hadn’t swum in the river since childhood. Her family picnicked by the riverside in the summer when she was young, but they hadn’t for many years past. Most of the river traffic was pleasure craft and non-commercial fishing boats, and a few barges tourists rented.
The family memories brought fresh pain. Her parents must be in a panic not knowing why or how they suddenly disappeared. Everyone, her parents, the police, Esme, all would look to Roger with questions and blame. Guilt she wasn’t doing enough consumed her again, feeling like a heavy boot pressing against her chest. The weight of guilt exceeded her distress and was stronger than any explanation or justification she could make for not doing more. Tears she rarely succumbed to trickled down the side of her nose and into the corners of her mouth. Carefully, so Emily wouldn’t see, she wiped the damp evidence away. She finished her wine and rejoined Emily on the bench.
“We need to think about what we can do to adapt,” Emily said. “Show them some skill. You’re going to see about cooking, of course. I don’t know what the devil I can offer.”
The day before Richard had been carrying around a large ledger. He and Simon went over some of the entries when they sat down for lunch. Large and busy as Elysian Fields was, it seemed logical that Richard could use an assistant.
“You’re a mathematician. Why not offer to help Richard with some of the bookkeeping?” El
ectra suggested. “I don’t know how they handle trade in commodities and currency in this age and in the countryside. I imagine funds change hands at some point. I doubt he’d let you touch the money but you can take notes for him on the transactions.”
“I teach math. I’m not a mathematician. There is a difference.”
Emily was turning into Esme, putting such a fine point on the statement. “Mathematician or math teacher, don’t be so pedantic. It’s a marketable skill to the steward of a holding this size,” Electra said.
“I wonder if they do hard money exchanges.”
For the life of her, Electra couldn’t remember either. She had it in her head that the back and forth went something akin to: a farmer hands over two pigs to the smithy who makes tools for him, a hoe or pitchfork, and whatnot.
“Should we ask tonight at dinner or is that bad timing? Will he see it as too soon and suspicious as a result?” Emily asked.
“I’d hold off until tomorrow morning. I’m afraid if we ask with Simon sitting there, he’ll interfere and tell Richard not to agree.” Electra heard his negative influence in her head. Although he’d been nice to her on the trip to Gloucester, even buying her a hearty meal at the village tavern, she didn’t see him giving either of them any slack. He’d have strong objection to them having any access to the castle’s records.
She also wondered how much resistance the current cook and her assistants would present to Electra working in the kitchen. The chefs she’d met at culinary school weren’t short on ego. The castle cook likely possessed the same amount of self-importance. She stood a good chance of failing even if Richard gave her the okay to prepare a dish or meal.
If the kitchen here was like most modern ones, all the recipes were kept in the there. Those recipes held the key to what spices she’d have available. With little or no information about what the kitchen had available, she’d have to wing it with whatever she had on hand, in obvious sight. It’d be like some horrible medieval version of the mystery basket they give chefs on cooking contests. At least the two most important spices were on hand, salt and pepper. The stew last night was seasoned with them.
In Time for You Page 8
