“I need four discs. Three this size,” Oliver made a circle about half the circumference of a pie pan with his hands, “and two flat and square, this wide and this long,” he said, using his fingers to show him. All must be polished to the highest gloss you can achieve. Can you do that?”
“Yes. When do you want them?”
“As soon as possible.”
“I’ll have them the day after tomorrow. I need one day to fashion them and one to polish.”
“Thank you.”
“What’s he want?” the smithy asked, looking at Roger.
“Nothing. He’s helping the old man,” Simon said.
“Have you seen the carpenter?” Richard asked the blacksmith.
“The stable repairing a damaged stall.”
The four found the carpenter and once more Simon shoved Oliver forward to explain what he wanted. Oliver requested the box to be the length of his forearm with rectangular openings on opposite boards and opposite ends.
“The openings should be about this big.” He demonstrated what he wanted.
“This is most odd. What is it you wish to make?”
Roger stepped up, knowing from experience with Oliver’s previous conversation with Richard that he wasn’t up to thinking fast on his feet. “It is a treasure box of sorts.”
“Sounds ugly.”
“Can you make it or not?” Roger asked with growing irritation.
He nodded. “I can have such a simple box done by evening tomorrow perhaps sooner.”
“Good,” Oliver said.
Richard and Simon led Roger and Oliver past the horse trough on their way back to the keep.
“Stop here,” Simon ordered and removed the bucket hanging on a pole by the trough. He filled it and doused Roger first, then Oliver. “Continue on.”
Roger welcomed the impromptu bath. If an insult would get him another dousing, he’d speak it, even if he risked getting a bloody nose as well. Simon hustled them along before he could get an insult out.
****
As promised, the box and the metal pieces arrived on time. Richard handed them to Oliver through the bars of the cell. “I don’t see how you can make anything worthwhile from these. Let the guard know when you’re done.”
When they were alone, Oliver held the pieces in his hands like he would a dead cat and said, “I didn’t think this through. Richard is right. I can’t make my periscope. I forgot about adhesive. I’ve no way for my mirrored parts to stick. What did you use for adhesive?”
“Animal glue was common but I’ve no idea how to make it. I’d go with cheese glue.”
“Cheese glue? The Americans call that Velveeta. Are you being serious?”
“Serious as a hangman. All we need is soft cheese, water, quicklime, and a mortar and pestle. I built my boy a little wooden sailboat with cheese glue. It’s sturdy stuff.”
****
Richard turned the periscope over in his hands, fingering the cutouts and looking puzzled. “How is this a treasure box?”
“From a strategic standpoint, it is a treasure,” Oliver said. “Your longbowmen, what’s their range?”
Richard answered, “About two hundred yards.”
“I’ve been fired upon by them even farther out,” Roger added. Heads turned his way. To take the edge off the dark looks they gave him, he added, “Your archer’s skill struck fear in many men’s hearts.”
Simon’s expression softened a fraction. “Range depends on the strength of the individual bowman. The average is closer to one hundred to one-hundred-fifty yards.”
“This gives your archers the ability to fire the first volley on attackers who come into range without exposing themselves,” Oliver said with confidence Roger questioned he possessed.
“Let’s see how this device of yours works,” Simon said.
Simon and Richard left but returned minutes later. They brought two additional knights, Harold and Cedric, with them as they led Roger and Oliver out and off the castle grounds. Approximately one hundred yards from the edge of the woods, Oliver asked to stop. “Here?”
Simon looked from the spot to the castle. “This is good.”
Yellow limestone deposits known as Cotswold stone covered the shire. Oliver glued one of the round discs to a boulder that rose knee height from the ground.
Simon had given the periscope to a knight he ordered to stay on the outer curtain wall. Once Oliver had the disc in place, Richard would wave a flag. The knight on the wall would kneel, out of sight and raise the scope in their direction. If he could see them from that position, he was to wave a scarlet flag. If not, he’d wave a black one.
A red flag went up. Simon smiled. “The old man did it,” he said to Richard. “You two remain here, but hide in the woods,” he told Harold and Cedric. “I want to see for myself how this works. When I wave the red flag, come out of the woods as though sneaking up on the castle.”
Roger and Oliver stood by while Simon and Richard took turns ducking and using the periscope to peek over the top of the wall. The scope gave the archers the ability to fire the first volley on attackers who came into range without exposing their archers. Other knights patrolling the wall also gathered around to try it.
“We’ll search out spots on the north and south sides of the castle to post the other two.” Richard turned to Oliver. “You say you haven’t given one of these to our French guest,”
“You have the only one,” Oliver said.
“’Tis wondrous. No enemy can creep up on us. The river offers no cover and neither do the woods with this.” Simon handed the periscope back to Richard and waved the black flag signaling Harold and Cedric to come back.
“If you wish to be released with Comte Marchand, you must make another of these, of better quality,” Richard said.
Roger stepped in front of Oliver. “That wasn’t the condition for his release.”
“Now it is. This is a worthy gift for the Prince. We’ll have another or you’ll be leaving here alone.”
“You treacherous bastard.” Roger pressed closer, almost nose-to-nose had Richard been taller.
Simon dropped his crutch and pulled Roger back by the shoulder hard, pushing him into the wall. “Richard has never raised a fist to anyone in anger. You want to fight, then fight me. Don’t think me incapable because I am lame.”
“You’ve no idea how tempted I am.” Roger didn’t want to fight a crippled man, but if Simon continued, he would.
“Roger don’t. Don’t lose your chance for freedom,” Oliver blurted.
Roger planted his feet firmly and readied for Simon to swing at him. Richard moved between them and ordered two knights to escort Roger back to the dungeon.
Behind him, Simon called out, “Chain our testy prisoner in the wall manacles.”
Chapter Nineteen
Simon released Roger from the agony of wall manacles the next morning. When first locked into them, the lack of blood flow to his arms was excruciating. First came a burning sensation, then his arms lost all feeling. Oliver had kept the rats from tormenting him but while Roger dozed a beetle crawled into his ear. He yelled for Oliver to wake and he managed to lure the creature out. Roger knew men who went deaf from insects eating away as they traveled deeper inside their ears.
At midday, Simon came down to the dungeon and into the cell. “Were the manacles really necessary?” Roger asked Simon as he unlocked the cuffs. The muscles between his shoulder blades hurt like he’d been beaten with a lead pipe. The pain of blood flowing back into his extremities ached worse than losing blood to them. He vigorously rubbed his arms, but kept the pain from showing on his face. “Soon I’ll no longer be your prisoner. What purpose did this extra torture serve?”
“You’re a warrior, experienced in battle. Richard is my friend and a man whose strengths lie off the field of conflict. He is slight of build and soft of hand, no calluses from swordplay, like you and me. He possesses no effective means to defend himself and you are not a fool, blind to that fact. You
were on the verge of challenging him. His pride would override good sense. He’d rise to meet that challenge, and he’d be hurt.”
“I didn’t raise a hand to him.”
“No matter. Whether you were or weren’t, I wasn’t about to let the exchange grow more heated. It pleased me to put you in manacles. We all fear being chained to the wall. We all know what horrors it holds. I lost my liege lord, my best friend, and my leg to you Frenchies. Your night of suffering is of no interest to me.”
“We all lost someone in the war.”
A split-second of silent understanding passed between them before Simon left the cell. “We expect our rider with your ransom tomorrow. In three days, a Genoese cargo ship is sailing from Bristol Harbor to Le Havre along with you.”
A Genoese ship. A chilling thought. It was Genoese trading ships that brought the Black Plague to Europe ten years earlier. Roger had to wonder if that choice wasn’t deliberate on Simon’s part. The pestilence threat died out during the decade after but it was just the idea of being on one of their ships for any length of time that unsettled him.
“Richard will give you enough money to book passage and pay for meals onboard,” Simon continued.
Roger needed every bit of coin they’d let him have for his trip to Wales. “Doesn’t the cost of my passage cover food?”
Simon laughed and locked the cell door. Laughter—not a good response. The only Genoese Roger had ever come into contact with were the ones serving as crossbow men in the King’s army. He’d no idea what the rules were with their sailors.
“Why do you think there’s so many Genoese mercenaries? Because their love of gold exceeds their love for all else: mother, country, loyalty,” Simon said, answering his own question.
Made sense. They were commonly called upon as mercenaries. Loyalty among any such an army was never in strong supply. “What of Oliver?”
“He says he’ll be ready with the periscope tomorrow. As long as his device works, the old man will leave with you. Money for his needs is your choice.”
“Fine.”
****
The knight with the ransom arrived on time. The next day, Roger and Oliver were escorted to the Severn. A rowboat rested on the riverbank. It would take them to the fishing boat anchored farther out. The boat would take them to the port at Bristol.
Early morning mist hovered close to the ground. In the sunlight, gnats and other winged river insects darted back and forth. Those that landed were quickly snapped up by fish. A tiny air bubble, the sound of a light plop, and the fish, in turn, were snapped up by the men on the boat. From the cliff top the river looked silver and peacefully calm. Up close, the river looked shades of green and grey. The choppy current created small whitecaps in places where it crashed against rocks.
Emily came with Simon and Richard to the bank to watch them set sail. She hadn’t had a chance to speak to Roger since the day Simon told him they’d believed he was a comte and would ransom him.
Simon allowed her to hug Oliver goodbye after she asked to bid farewell to the poor old man.
“Be quick,” Simon warned.
She hugged Oliver tight and whispered something in his ear. When she released him, she looked over at Roger and mouthed, save her.
He acknowledged with a slight nod that wouldn’t draw Simon’s attention. He watched her back as she joined Simon and Richard, wondering if he’d ever see her again, desperate to hold her tight, just in case.
“We haven’t much time to get Electra out,” Oliver told Roger after their boat left the dock. “The Prince is leaving the castle at the end of June.”
“Where to?”
“Emily didn’t say. He might not take her with him.”
“If we were lucky, he’d leave her. But our luck hasn’t been very good so far.”
****
Once they reached the brackish water of Bristol’s port, the fishermen dumped them off at the dock handling foreign cargo ships. Hard up sailors, drunks, thieves, and strumpets, lined the wharf next to a row of horse drawn carts. Baskets of freshly caught fish were stacked and ready for transport. The fishmongers packed their carts, hawking whatever catch they had as they headed to the market. Around every boat and into the bay floated all manner of sewage, but the most overpowering smell was that of fish.
“Seeing the flotsam and jetsam in the water puts me off eating fish again,” Oliver muttered.
Roger and Oliver walked a short distance along the dock and found where the Genoese ship was moored. Roger knew it from the language of the men on the deck and those loading the new cargo.
“Let’s find an inn for the night,” Roger said and they headed toward a tavern with a signboard displaying an albatross.
The tavern’s downstairs room stunk of a nose-burning combination of urine, vomit, body odor, and spilled ale. The innkeeper said he had one shared room upstairs that could house two more. As filthy and disgusting a place as Roger had ever been in, it served their purpose for one night. Roger paid the man, careful not to show how much coin he had on him. Robbery was a common by-product of life on the docks. He hadn’t much, but what he had he intended on keeping.
The shabby inn hadn’t any means for the two to take a bath. The modern convenience of indoor hot and cold running water, had spoiled him. Loving a refreshing shower, he often stood under the showerhead and let the water run until the hot ran out.
A desperate Roger begged a piece of soap from one of the tavern wenches, thinking it was a futile request, judging from the look of her. She disappeared into another room and when she returned, surprised him with a misshapen chunk of soap. Rose-scented, she no doubt stole it. The origin wasn’t his business. The innkeeper said there was a water barrel in the back they could use to rinse off.
Roger stripped down first, lathering, and rinsing off with a bucket of the cold water. Oliver went next. Roger worked what remained of the soap into their shirts and chausses, which he hung to dry across barrels of beer. They sat naked on the ground, waiting for their clothes to dry while a pack of razor thin dogs searched through a pile of the inn’s garbage. No one who walked by looked twice at their nakedness.
“Our clothes are dry. Where to now?” Oliver asked, pulling his shirt over his head.
“I want to see what other ships are in the harbor and their destinations. Time is short. The Genoese one docks on the French coast, but I hope there’s a ship going north, toward Wales. You’ll have to do the talking,” Roger said. “I can’t afford to get taken as a spy again.”
“No worries.”
They found a ship, Neptune’s Lady, that was sailing the next day for Liverpool. Not traveling to France first sheared off several wasted days finding a way back across England and into Wales.
“It’s a god-send,” Oliver whispered, leaning across the Albatross’s table. No one nearby appeared interested in listening to their conversation, but you never knew for sure. They weren’t familiar faces at the docks and strangers were easy prey. Roger hated the loss of his sword. The Elysian Fields knights who found him in the woods confiscated it. No way would Simon return it to an enemy. He and Richard only returned their eating daggers. The daggers were better than nothing. A sword and a dagger were better.
Roger let Oliver do all the talking. Shortly after sunset, they went to the shared room with the ratty blankets the innkeeper provided. Roger chose a spot under the glassless window for them. Moonlight spilling through would give them the ability to see if someone snuck up on them during the night.
****
Common for a cargo ship, Neptune’s Lady had no place to carry civilian passengers. At the captain’s insistence, Roger and Oliver slept on the top deck and nowhere near the cargo hold.
Strong northeastern winds carried the ship up the Irish Sea and into Liverpool’s harbor a day earlier than the captain anticipated. After disembarking, Roger and Oliver made their way to a busy road by the town’s market.
“We need food to travel on,” Roger said, “and something to car
ry it in.”
“Back in a flash.” Oliver worked his way through the crowd to a fruit stand manned by an older woman wearing a tattered shawl and a voluminous headscarf.
The woman shook her head no to whatever Oliver asked. He didn’t budge and continued talking, smiling at the woman, touching her hand, turning on the charm. Roger was impressed. Slowly, he wore her down and she finally nodded a yes. He gave her a coin and she removed her scarf and handed it to him with a toothless grin. The two talked and exchanged smiles like old friends as Oliver bought some of her produce, which he bundled in the scarf hobo style. Roger joined him as he moved through the market buying a few vegetables, bread and cheese.
“You old charmer you,” Roger said when they were out of the marketplace.
“I’ve known my fair share of ladies,” Oliver said with pride. “I wasn’t always an old man and being old doesn’t mean I’m dead.”
“I’m in the company of a rake. Who’d have guessed?”
Roger needed to get his bearings in the new surroundings. He knew they had to travel west and which way was west but nothing more than that. “Let’s find a spot off the road and figure out our route.”
They found a small shaded clearing where they could talk and have their midday meal. “Any ideas how we get to the castle?” he asked Oliver, working around a bite of apple.
“One. Cross the Mersey River and hoof it west. Provided we don’t run into any trouble, we can be there in two days. Any ideas how we get into the castle?”
The question had dogged him ever since Emily said that was where Electra had gone. How the devil were he and Oliver supposed to slip inside a well-garrisoned fortress? If fortune smiled on them and they got in, then how to go about finding her? On the sailing to Liverpool he considered what the odds of success were if he waited until the Prince’s party was on the road to their next destination. It might be easier. They could follow the party and when the Prince camped for the night, he’d make his move after everyone retired for the evening. He’d have to hope she wasn’t sharing a tent with any other women. But the chance the cook had a tent to herself were slim and sentries would be posted all around the camp. If he could sneak through and find her tent, he’d have to get her out without rousing her tent mates. Neither option sounded achievable.
In Time for You Page 19
