I’m the original Iron Man.
He took time to relish the memory of how the sensation grew with the fastening of each piece: the greaves, the vambraces, the breastplate, the determined belief in victory with each tug of the gauntlets.
He put the breastplate down and removed the helm. Setting sentiment aside, he’d decided to leave it behind. If they traveled back, he’d need to use what the modern armies called guerilla tactics. He and Oliver would need to work in secret and stay out of sight as much as possible. They’d have to blend in with the environment and a shiny breastplate and noisy greaves presented too much of a risk. He wasn’t so foolish as to travel unarmed. He’d wear his freshly sharpened sword and carry a knife in his boot. He gave Olive an identical knife for his boot.
“Maps, compass, a little food, and dressings for minor injuries,” Roger said and gave one final check of his duffle, concerned he had all his supplies. The habit of double and triple checking important details began as a young knight.
Oliver bought two wine bags online that he called Bota Bags. They filled theirs with water. Roger had carried a similar bag for wine when on campaign. The Botas held a liter of water, which would suffice until they found a stream or river, should they succeed.
In a tiny pocket, on the inside of his waistband, Roger secreted Electra’s ring.
Oliver’s son, Leland, arrived, and they left for the outcropping.
Roger and Oliver stood by as Leland fired up the laser machine. As always, he brought his battery-powered iPod base and got his music going first.
The singer sang about getting over someone. Roger learned enough modern vernacular to know this was about the end of a relationship. Leland had a whole playlist loaded with similar songs. Roger preferred the love songs Stephen sang, but this man he liked.
“Who is this singing?” he asked.
“Toby Keith,” Leland said, working the machine’s settings.
“What do you call this music? There’s a lot of songs about people with broken hearts.”
“They call this country music. Sad stories are a cornerstone of the genre,” Oliver interjected.
“Can we listen to something else?” Roger asked. He didn’t feel like listening to more sad songs.
Leland reached over and tapped the iPod. “Here you go. This is straight out of your era Dad.”
Roger had to hear the first few bars to like it. He found himself swaying to the music. In the past, he’d never been a dancer, never been interested in learning. Electra enjoyed all kinds of dancing and made him take lessons with her. He refused to admit to her he had fun and looked forward to their weekly lessons.
“It’s called disco,” Oliver told him, bouncing in time to the beat. “This is a favorite song of mine, called Saturday Night Fever. The movie is brilliant. One day you must watch it with me.” He leaned over and said low, “I’ll share a secret with you. When I’m alone at home, sometimes I put my favorite songs on and sing along and dance around like the Tony Manero character.”
“You needn’t whisper, Dad. Everyone knows about your song and dance routine.”
“You don’t.”
“Sometimes when you think everyone has gone, we haven’t all left. I’ve had toast with thicker walls than that double-wide trailer, lab-slash-home of yours.” Leland smiled at his father. “All right, test time.” He flipped the switch on the machine. A blue-white gauzy light chased a red dot that appeared on the dark granite. The dot remained stationery while the blue-white tail pulsed. Leland gestured for Oliver and Roger to move to the outcropping. “You know the routine. Sit on either side of the laser’s path.”
When Leland concentrated on operating the machine, he was the spitting image of his father, only a younger, taller version. Leland even wore the same style horn-rimmed glasses as Oliver, although Oliver said he carried contact lenses as a precaution. He’d worried if they made it through the passage in time and someone saw the glasses, they’d demand an explanation as to what they were. Who knew where that might lead. As for the contacts, Roger shuddered watching Oliver display how he slipped them into his eyes. The idea of deliberately sticking a finger in your eye struck Roger as a grim solution for not wearing glasses.
“If caught, an Englishman travelling with a Frenchman while our countries are at war is going to be a far bigger problem than strange eyewear. They’ll imprison or kill me for the enemy they believe I am and imprison and likely torture you for being a traitor,” Roger had warned.
Roger and Oliver either stood or sat while Leland kept the laser on the rock. In between attempts, the two relaxed on blankets they’d laid out nearby.
“You never said how Leland will explain you disappearance to his mother or how your wife is taking this experiment,” Roger said.
“No explanation needed. We divorced years ago when Leland was small. She prefers a warmer climate and lives in Malta.”
“You must be a proud papa having a boy who takes after you so much.”
“I am. In your other life, were you married? Did you have children?”
Roger hesitated to discuss the matter. He hadn’t spoken of that part of his past with Electra. Not for fear she’d judge him, but he didn’t want her pity. She’d say it wasn’t his fault, but he could’ve done things differently. If he had, who knows what might’ve changed.
“Roger?”
Leland finished the session and came over to pour a cup of coffee from his thermos. “I’ve wondered that myself and didn’t have the courage to ask.”
“I was married for a time, and I had a son.”
“They must be in a panic over your disappearance,” Oliver said.
Roger shook his head. “No. They both died before I went on campaign. My son, Yves, was a sturdy little fellow. He was only two but strong as a lad twice his age. He climbed out of his crib one morning. The nurse didn’t hear him. He crawled up into the nursery’s window embrasure. My home sat on a cliff overlooking the sea. He slipped and fell to his death on the rocks below. My wife committed suicide shortly after.”
“I’m sorry.” Oliver’s eyes held no pity but male understanding of the guilt Roger carried. Guilt that he’d failed as a husband and father.
“I’d never given any credence to the possibility of love at first sight. Then I met Electra. I was at Esme’s and Stephen’s and they’d just announced their engagement. Glass of champagne in hand, she squeezed into the chair I was in and gave me a smile bright enough to put your lightning machine to shame. She made me a believer.”
“Then it’s all the more important I get you to Electra,” Leland said. “She’s a future filled with lost happiness.”
“Let’s try again.” Roger rose and went to the rock followed by Oliver.
Leland took another swallow of coffee and returned to the machine. “Ready, set, go.”
Roger was leaning back against the outcropping one minute and the next he was thrown to the side. He stumbled and flattened a hand on the rock, trying to stay upright. He banged an elbow as he fell onto one knee. His mouth watered like he’d bitten into a dozen lemons. He choked and managed to spit. Leland’s image blurred as Leland was hurled backward, and then it faded away. The ground around Roger rolled and pitched. The motion and dizziness that kept him off balance stopped as fast as it hit. He’d gone through this once before. Like then, recovery was quick. He smoothed his hair down, which, from experience, he knew would be sticking out, looking electrified. In front of him, Oliver rose to his knees, wobbled but managed to stay upright. The two of them used the outcropping for support as they stood. Roger reached over and smoothed Oliver’s hair.
“Did what I think happened, happen?” Oliver asked, seeing the empty spot where Leland and the machine had been.
Roger nodded.
Oliver spun, dancing like a bespectacled Rumpelstiltskin as he did and said too loud, “Yes. Finally. My life’s work is validated. Time travel exists.”
“Lower your voice. Let’s see if we’ve landed where we hoped. I�
�d hate to look over my shoulder and find some man-eating dinosaur crashing through the bushes.”
“We’re long past that era. I can tell from the plant life.”
“Good to know but still keep your voice down.”
“Give me a moment,” Oliver said and removed a piece of paper, a plastic sandwich bag, and a pen from his boot. He came around behind Roger, laid the paper on Roger’s back and began writing.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving Leland a note letting him know we’re safe and headed toward the castle but the year is still unknown. I told him I’d either bury it in a shallow place at the bottom of the rock or stuffed in a crevice.”
He finished and found a crevice to stick the note into along with his eyeglasses. They hiked up the short slope to the road. No one came into sight for several minutes. Then came the sound of horses in the distance. Riders heading their way.
“Hide,” Roger said.
Oliver ducked behind a thick hedge while Roger lay flat on the ground at the base of an ancient oak. A party of knights wearing the same livery on their surcoats rode by talking loud and laughing as they did. Roger recognized the design. Alex and Shakira wore rings with intaglios of the same design: a white swan on a field of scarlet. It belonged to the Guiscard family. For the first time since Electra and Emily vanished, Roger felt some relief. Knights bearing the Guiscard heraldic symbol meant Elysian Fields, the family’s holding existed. The sisters would likely have sought shelter there. Rescue was within reach.
Roger stood and held a hand out to Oliver. “Welcome to the Middle Ages.”
Chapter Twelve
Gloucester
Date: 1357
They stayed off the road and far enough away to be out of sight. It didn’t take them as much time as Roger expected to reach Elysian Fields. He thought Oliver, being older, might need to move at a slower pace. With that in mind, he chose to travel along the banks of a creek so Oliver would have less foliage to fight through. They hadn’t gotten far when Oliver told Roger to pick up the pace.
“There it is in its glory days.” Roger had only known the castle as a ruin. Alex’s home of long ago was a remarkable structure, the perfect combination of intimidation and beauty. The blonde stone was similar to the stone of his chateau. This one had a double set of perimeter walls, where his did not. He understood the tactical advantage of forcing the enemy into the small space between curtain walls and having your archers fire down upon them. His ancestors settled on a twenty-foot high curtain wall but no second wall. Should an enemy get past his men on the wall, they’d have a large expanse of bailey to cross, all the time exposed to archers front and back of them.
“Let’s go left. Put some distance between us and any patrols from the castle,” he told Oliver. “When we’ve gone far enough, we’ll make our way to the riverbank. From there, we’ll double back. If we’re seen, we’ll look like two locals walking along the river.”
“You’re not planning on trying to sneak in today, are you?”
“No. I want to see what the weakest point for entry is. I imagine the back. I also have to see Electra or Emily to know for certain they’re still here. It’s pointless to risk getting caught if they’ve gone.”
“What will we do if they are gone?”
The scientist expected the former medieval knight to have an answer, and Roger sincerely wished he possessed one. “I don’t know. I’ll cross that bridge when or if we come to it.”
They made their way to the riverbank without running into anyone. Roger gave a silent thank you to the heavens for the small measure of good fortune. Here and there along the riverbank, men fished, competing with several boats manned by small crews anchored further out. If things were the same as they were in France at the time, those fishermen sold their catches to the local markets. They’d offer first choice to the local noble, of course. In this case, the cook at Elysian Fields would get the best of the lot.
When they were positioned directly beneath the castle, Roger told Oliver, “Stop. We’ll rest and eat here.”
Two men stopping for a midday meal and wine wouldn’t be noticed. If their attention drifted up to the castle, no one would think twice.
Roger ate slowly, not tasting the bread or cheese he brought, his mind fixed on the problem. Like Chateau Marchand, his Norman holding, Elysian Fields sat at the edge of a hilltop overlooking a body of water. A cart-wide path led from the castle to the Severn River. Chateau Marchand had no such path; only a narrow trail that led to the English Channel. A rocky shelf in shallow water made attack from the sea almost impossible.
Elysian Fields was vulnerable to attack from the river. It’d be a difficult task, fraught with risk of an enemy taking many casualties but doable if they were a determined group. One of the Guiscard ancestors clearly recognized the danger. Armed men kept watch on the cliff and river below from two towers, one on each end of the rear curtain wall. One way to avoid it and the rear gate, which they also had a clear view of; was through the garden. The other weak spot was a short wall, little more than a man’s height that enclosed what appeared to be the chapel and the family graveyard.
“The only way to see if the sisters, are there and allowed to move freely, is from some position along the front of the castle,” Oliver said, giving voice to Roger’s thoughts.
“True. I can’t guess whether they’d be allowed that freedom or not. I’m not sure I’d have given strangers who came to my gates such freedom.”
“Let’s hope the Baron’s people are nicer than you were.”
“You’re fortunate we’re not in the France of my time. You’d be breaking bread with the rats of my dungeon for that slur.”
A fisherman had changed locations and moved close to where they sat. Roger turned in time to see the man eyeing him. As soon as Roger made eye contact the man looked away and cast his line into the water.
“Let’s leave,” Roger said, uncomfortable with the man’s attention. “Walk casually away. Don’t act suspicious.”
Oliver nodded.
Roger intended to return using the same path to the top that they used to reach the riverbank, but that way was now blocked. Men were unloading cargo from a boat docked at the weathered pier.
“We have to go the other way. Keep your eyes peeled for a path on the cliff we can negotiate.”
At the first bend in the river, Roger found a section with decent footing and they began to climb. A cormorant colony had nested on the flat shelves that jutted out from the rocky cliff. Roger and Oliver came under continued attack by the different bird parents, who screeched and dive-bombed them, pecking occasionally, one digging his claws into poor Oliver’s scalp, as the men made their way up. Both were shit on, more than once.
“Disgusting,” Oliver said, wiping at his sleeve with a leaf after they’d reached the top.
Roger bent his head. “Is there any in my hair? I thought I felt a plop.”
“No. But they got you good on the back of your shoulder. I’ll wipe it off.” Oliver plucked a handful of leaves from a big alder tree and rubbed at the bird fouling.
When he finished, Roger said, “We need to find a good place to keep an eye on the bailey. Whether the women are allowed into the courtyard or not, if they even come to a window on this side of the castle, we must set up where we can see them.”
“Out of sight from the road but with a place we can shield ourselves should someone from the castle come along.”
Roger hadn’t given a tremendous amount of thought to Oliver’s age and physical agility. The man wasn’t a layabout but age takes a toll in the strongest of men. “You do realize we’ll have to sit in a tree for much of the day. I hadn’t considered the castle’s curtain wall. The fact Elysian Fields was sure to have one and how it would block our line of sight escaped me when you said you wanted to come. I didn’t think to warn you.”
“I can manage. I’ll switch off with you so neither of us is a crippled, aching mess at the end of the day,” Oliver said.
Roger chuckled at the optimism. He’d had the childhood of a typical boy: tree climbing, frogging, rough-housing with the other boys at his father’s holding. He doubted the cerebral Oliver shared the same wild childhood. He looked like the sort who came out of the womb wearing his glasses and a bowtie. “No matter what we do, I’m sure we’ll ache like plow horses by nightfall. Been many, many a year since I’ve climbed a tree.”
They passed an open space with a tall oak that Oliver thought perfect. “No clearings,” Roger told him. “That’s where people will stop to eat or rest.” He started again but then stopped and put his hand out to stop Oliver. “Did you hear something?”
“No, just normal woodland sounds. Why?”
“I thought I heard a horse snort and rustling close-by.” He waited, listening, but didn’t hear anything. Roger kept an ear out for sounds out of the ordinary, but all he heard were the usual ones in the woods: birds, small animals, and the like.
“This is a good spot,” Roger said when they came to an overgrown area surrounded by tall oaks. He dropped his backpack on the ground. “I’ll take the first watch.”
“Stand where you are,” a man ordered and four mounted knights with their swords drawn emerged from the trees and formed a circle around them.
Roger immediately drew his sword. From the corner of his eye he saw Oliver pull his knife from his boot. Without relying on Oliver’s help, he calculated his odds. Obviously, the knights had the advantage, not just in numbers: mounted, he’d have to contend with both the large horse and an armed man able to slice down at him. He’d aim to injure the horse first, try to get the horse to rear and throw the rider. On the ground, one-on-one, he stood a good chance of taking two of the knights. More than two? Defeating them would require nothing short of a miracle. But, miracles did happen. After all, the English claimed two incredible miracles, at Crecy and at Poitiers, when they managed to defeat the French.
Roger’s accent would give him away for French, and the enemy. Perhaps there was a way out of fighting. If Oliver did the talking, the knights might let them go on their way.
In Time for You Page 13
