“You may leave Harold,” Richard said.
Before Harold shut the door, Emily knocked softly and stuck her head in. “Can I listen?”
“Prisoner interrogation is no place for a lady,” Simon said.
“I’m interested. I’ll be quiet. I won’t interfere or get near the prisoner. Please.”
Simon and Richard briefly whispered and Simon waved her over. He gave her his seat and brought the other upholstered chair to the desk.
Roger watched the door. Why had Emily come alone? Where was Electra? Was she hurt or sick? He’d give anything to talk to Emily and find out how Electra fared. If she was physically able, she’d have come. If they’d hurt her, he’d find a way to kill the two men in front of him with his bare hands or die trying. He needed answers.
“Where is the Baron?” Roger asked. He saw no reason to waste time with explanations to a steward and the Captain of the Guard. This should be a conversation between nobles.
“We ask the questions, not you,” Simon told him.
“Explain your presence in England,” Richard said.
“I am the Comte Roger Jean-Pierre Marchand of Normandy.”
“You can say anything and with no evidence to support your claim, why should we believe you?” Richard asked.
“I am a friend of King John’s. He can confirm my claim. As a Comte, I deserve to be questioned by the Baron and not his underlings.”
“The Baron lives in Somerset. We are his representatives here at Elysian Fields. As for your alleged nobility, we will consider sending a message to London. But you still have not stated your purpose.”
“France is in disarray after your unjust campaign. Few can spare the funds needed to ransom our King. The people are taxed beyond their limit. After much debate, the nobles who escaped capture at Poitiers decided to send a small party into England and attempt to free John.”
Simon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, skepticism radiating off him. “How many were sent? I find it hard to believe even the biggest fool of a Frenchman would think a band of men could enter London unnoticed, let alone scheme their way into the palace.”
Roger hadn’t planned on that question. He did a fast mental calculation of the bare numbers they’d have needed were this story true. He grasped at a weak but only reason he could think of for what happened to the party. “We were three. My home is just outside of Honfleur. We gathered there and sailed out of Le Havre. We knew you’d have lookers along your southern and eastern coastline so we traveled La Manche but stayed close to our coast. Our plan was to sail around your western border and enter from the Bristol Channel. We were halfway into the channel when a storm blew us off course. Our boat crashed onto the rocks in Wales, not far from Cardiff. One of our party drowned trying to make it to shore. The other suffered a slash across his chest from boat debris. The deep cut bled in such a way I could not stop the flow. He died on the beach. Our supplies were lost, which is why I needed Oliver. I needed an Englishman to speak for me.”
“He is as we thought, a traitor,” Richard said.
Roger shook his head. “No. I forced him to aid me. I threatened him with death.”
He risked a quick glance at Emily in hopes of seeing some indication of how credible he sounded. Her expression hadn’t changed but she winked once, which gave him hope.
“You claim to be a count and to have fought at Poitiers. You say your holding is in Normandy. I saw many of France’s northern knights on the battlefield that day. What is on your banner? Perhaps, I will remember seeing it,” Simon asked.
“It is a black panther rampant over crossed swords on a field of orange.”
Simon shot up, knocking his chair and crutch over as he did. He grabbed his crutch from the floor and moved to stand in front of Roger.
Roger stiffened, preparing for a blow.
“You killed my friend. The finest man I’ve ever known. I am tempted to string you up and let you hang from our walls. I’d see you fodder for the crows.”
He had to be referring to Stephen. This was the Barony he was in service to and the only knight Roger had engaged that day. He’d struck down only one other and that was a foot soldier. His friend lived and the man would never know.
Emily left her seat and came to Simon. She slipped her arm through his and tried to turn his attention. “Simon, come sit down. If Edward wants him delivered to London, he needs to be unharmed.”
“You said you would not interfere and you will not. Sit.” Simon jerked his arm from her.
Afraid Simon might hit Emily, Roger redirected his anger. “If I am the one who challenged your friend, I did so out of loyalty to my country. You were on French soil, uninvited, and without good cause. I did what you would’ve were the situation reversed. Your friend was my enemy.”
Emily hadn’t moved in spite of Simon’s order. “Simon, losing a friend hurts. But it was war. Would you hate him for his loyalty to his king?”
Simon didn’t respond. He turned and with a hand to her lower back propelled her back to the door. “Go and find Harold. Tell him to report here. You’re not to return. Busy yourself elsewhere.”
“What are your going to do?” There was panic in her eyes and Roger feared she might run to him in an effort to protect him. Nothing good could come of her apparent willingness to defend the enemy.
“Emily. What transpires between men is not your concern. He is our prisoner and will remain such until his story is confirmed and we receive ransom for his freedom. Or, should his tale prove a lie, we will try him and execute him as a spy.”
“Simon is right, Emily,” Richard added. “We’ll have Harold arrange for two men to go to London. You needn’t worry about bloodletting. We’re not in the business of torture, even those who’ve killed one of our own. If an execution is necessary, it will be a clean one. Do not fret. Now, run along and find Harold.”
It crossed Roger’s mind they had no intentions of sending a message to London. If they didn’t, it meant a death sentence for him and Oliver and perhaps worse for Electra and Emily. There’d be no escape for them.
****
Simon led Roger back to the dungeon and gave him a hard shove into the cell. “Come here,” Simon ordered Oliver.
“I threatened to kill you,” Roger whispered as Oliver passed him.
Simon tied Oliver’s hands with the same rope used to tie Roger. Perspiration beaded the older man’s brow and Oliver lifted his arm to wipe the sweat away with his shirt sleeve. Simon raised his fist ready to backhand Oliver, probably suspecting the scientist was going to strike him. He dropped his hand seeing the tremble in Oliver’s arm as he bent his head and wiped his face.
Oliver’s questioning didn’t last long, which Roger took for a bad sign. The process should’ve followed a predictable path. Oliver would give his affirmative defense that he was in fear for his life. That threat compelled him to co-operate until he got to a safe place to escape. The defense lends itself to a lengthy effort where the interrogators pose questions worded differently, cloaked in hidden innuendo, and incriminating, if answered wrong.
Roger waited for the guard who brought Oliver back to free the pale-faced scientist of the rope they’d bound him with and leave.
“What happened up there?” Roger asked when the guard was out of earshot. “They couldn’t have asked you much.”
Oliver slid down the cell’s rear wall and sank like a wet sack on the ground. “I told them you came upon me while I slept. I said I was in the woods near Portishead. I told them what you said about threatening me and that I feared for my life. That was the only reason I helped you. They asked if you ever spoke of your plans or why you were in England, but I said you hadn’t.”
“Did they look like they believed you?”
“No,” Oliver said. He closed his eyes and leaned back so his head rested on the wall. “They just called for a guard to take me away.”
“Was Emily there by chance?”
“No.”
Roger didn’
t think the Simon fellow would relent and let her sit in on the questioning, but it was worth asking.
“You didn’t by any chance see Electra when you went to and fro?”
Oliver shook his head.
“Something is wrong. I can tell.” Roger stood. “Something has happened to her. What if we came too late and she’s dead?”
Roger splashed water on his face, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to come up with some means of learning the truth. Nothing. He yanked the water bucket from the wall and hurled it against the cell door. Splintered wood flew in every direction. Spilled water soaked the dirt floor. “It’s my fault. I never should’ve left them out of my sight that day.”
He turned at movement in his peripheral vision. Emily came into view. She ran to the cell door. “I can’t believe you’re here. You must’ve found a way through the time portal. Can we get back?”
Roger rushed toward her. “Where’s Electra? Why hasn’t she shown herself? Is she hurt? Is she alright? Talk to me.”
“I will if you give me a chance. It’s quite the mess,” she said, noting the broken pail. “Electra is fine. At least she was a day ago. She left with Prince Edward. They’re en route to Wales, Conwy Castle to be exact.”
Relieved, Roger made the sign of the cross. She lived and remained uninjured so far. “Why would she go with him? Did he force her to...to do anything against her will?”
“Yes and no. He ordered her to come with him as his chief cook, but he didn’t violate her sexually, if that’s your concern. From what I saw of him, he was a gentleman the entire time here. You didn’t answer me. We can get back now, right?”
“No, not for certain. It’s a long story.” Roger turned to Oliver who had come over. “Do you know where this Conwy Castle is?”
Oliver nodded. “It’s in Northern Wales. It’s a massive fortress, not yet a century old and with elaborate defenses. Even if we manage to get out of here, the journey to Conwy will be no easy task. It’s over a hundred miles.”
Roger did a fast calculation. He was several inches taller than Oliver with longer legs. Plus, Oliver’s age factored in. Roger would make much better time alone but he couldn’t in good conscience leave him behind. That’s if their captors released them both, a slim prospect based on Oliver’s interrogation. If he was ransomed quickly and released this month, he’d have fifteen hours of daylight, sixteen if released in June. Alone, he’d push himself. Four miles an hour, he’d make sixty miles a day. With Oliver, he’d have to take the trip slower. He couldn’t risk giving Oliver a heart attack en route. They’d reach Northern Wales in three days, if all went without a hitch and they had flat terrain. Four or five days was more realistic.
“How did she act when the Prince ordered her to come with him?” Roger asked. “She’s an excellent cook, but he must already have one. Why her too?”
“She begged to stay here with me, of course. Apparently, he has a sensitive stomach and suffers pain off and on. She prepared meals that pleased him and didn’t aggravate his condition.”
How could she not foresee this might be the result? “What was she thinking? Common sense should tell her if you help a powerful man, he’s going to keep you around. Mon Dieu. The nightmare grows.”
“Come on, Roger. You know she didn’t think this would happen. She cooked like she normally does.”
“I know.” He wasn’t mad at Electra. He was mad at himself for not watching over her better, mad at the circumstance they were in, mad at himself for not forbidding Oliver to join him. She just happened to be collateral damage from his anger and frustration.
“Did Simon or Richard say whether they truly intend to ransom me?”
“They are. Harold’s arranging the party going to London now.”
A scrap of good news.
“And me? Did you hear what they thought of my story?” Oliver asked.
She took a deep breath, the kind you take when you’re about to deliver bad news. “They think it’s dodgy. But...they haven’t said anything to indicate they mean to do you harm. Do you want me to see if I can get more info from Simon?”
“What information do you seek from me?”
Emily spun toward the voice. “Simon...where did you come from?”
“Ugh, of all people, Simon had to catch her,” Roger said low for only Oliver to hear.
“What information? Step away from the cell door.” Simon tugged on her arm, forcing her back a few feet.
Emily mouth opened but no sound came out.
“I asked about my ransom,” Roger said. “I asked if she knew whether you meant, in truth, to follow up. I also asked if she heard your feelings on poor Oliver here. First, I put the fear of God in him and the interrogation has added to his terror.”
“We told you we’d send word to London. No ransom request will be made until we verify your story. You needn’t confirm with Emily. As for this man—” he tipped his head toward Oliver. “he was caught consorting with the enemy. Whether it was with cause is yet to be determine. When we decide, he’ll learn his fate.” He turned to Emily. “Do not think to play a sly game with me. If questions by anyone are put to you, you are to direct them to me or Richard. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“Why are you here in the first place?” Simon asked.
Roger couldn’t help her with the answer. Not to this question. Think fast, Em. Make the reason logical.
She didn’t stumble for an answer but immediately replied, “The one called Oliver is an old man. I felt sorry for him. He looked so scared when he went into Richard’s chamber. I wanted to check on how he fared.”
Good girl, Roger thought. It was a suitable answer coming from a young woman.
“Ask me next time. This is no place for a lady. Let’s go.”
“They need another water bucket.” Emily pointed to the shattered remains.
Simon glanced at the mess and up at Roger. “Your doing, no doubt.” He grabbed another bucket from a hook and filled it. “Wait for me by the entry,” he told Emily. “I don’t want you near the prisoners.”
Catching Roger’s eye, she gave the slightest shrug and a sympathetic grimace.
After she left, Simon said, “Step to the rear of the cell.” He waited for Roger and Oliver to move and then took out a dagger and held it ready, while he opened the door and dropped the bucket down. “Destroy this one and you’ll get no more. You’ll drink your piss.”
Chapter Fourteen
Tewkesbury
The Prince lifted his hand, halting the party. “We’ll stop here for the night.”
We’ll stop here. Music to Electra’s ears. Her lower back hurt, her butt hurt, her shoulders ached. Prince Edward had provided her with a fine mount with a smooth gait, which she appreciated. It was still a long time in the saddle. Back home, she rode for fun on a regular basis but never for eight hours straight. Edward wanted to cover as much distance as possible while the weather held. They enjoyed sunshine and pleasant warmth traveling in the south and into the midlands. As they journeyed north, the weather could change fast with a spring storm coming inland from the Irish Sea.
Anxious to dismount, she fidgeted in the saddle, unable to hop down until he gave the word. He’d asked that she ride next to him on the trip. He wanted to point out the beauty of his homeland for her to compare to Greenland. Gloucestershire was her home too, and the most beautiful shire in all of England, in her opinion. She hadn’t expected to be more impressed with the familiar landscape. To her surprise, she was. To see the green patchwork of fields dotted with only the occasional cottage, without a cluster of homes or a development of some kind in the distance, brought the countryside’s beauty to new heights. The crisscross of carriageways and paved roads no longer scarred the land. Sheep grazed behind short, stone, Saxon walls, like in her time, but planes didn’t fly overhead, nothing blared from electronic devices, no ear splitting car horns blasted. Men and women plowed fields behind large shire horses, stopping to wave at the Prince�
��s party when they passed. The peace and quiet of the pristine land had snuck up on her. For the first time since finding herself in this world, she’d relaxed and enjoyed the Prince’s tour guide presentation.
“Tewkesbury is a market town. If you are in need of more supplies than Elysian Fields could offer, this is a good place to look,” the Prince said.
The medieval version bore little resemblance to the Tewkesbury she’d visited dozens of times. The lovely abbey drew her attention. Before shopping, she wanted to see the abbey as it was in its original form. The Romanesque tower marking the middle of the long nave, so beautiful, still stood in her time. As they approached, she saw the seven famous medieval stained glass windows, but missing were the Victorian ones enhancing the abbey walls now. She wasn’t a Catholic, but she loved their magnificent cathedrals and abbeys across England and Europe. To her, they represented some of the most remarkable architecture, especially considering the periods many were built.
“Will we be staying within the abbey property tonight?” she asked.
“No. We’ll make camp outside its walls. You needn’t prepare an evening meal for me. I will be expected to dine with the abbot. An obligation I wish I could avoid, but alas, I must attend.”
“Is the abbot unpleasant?” she asked. The Prince had a reputation for having a close association with the Archbishop of Canterbury. He loved the cathedral in life and requested to be buried there. She wondered why he didn’t want to visit with the abbot here.
“No, not unpleasant. Not a scholarly man though. He will request I tour the grounds and at the end, I will be besieged with pleas for monies. The meal is bound to be laden with overly rich and disagreeable food, accompanied by overly bland side dishes, none comparable to your meals.” He smiled.
“Can’t you beg off the dinner? Tell the abbot you’re not dining with him. You are the Prince, after all. Tell him you’re not up to dinner.”
“Perhaps in your homeland a Prince may do such a thing, but not in England. Oh, a Prince here can do it, but it is unwise to indicate any weakness of the mind, body, or spirit. Doing so invites speculation. And neither Prince nor King desires to incite talk of health and open the door to potential trouble.”
In Time for You Page 15
