“We don’t ask for coin. We will work to share whatever meal you’re having and a spot in your barn to sleep at night.”
The brewer stopped his safety check and faced Roger and Oliver again. “You think you can handle one of these barrels by yourself?”
Roger said nothing. He couldn’t lift a full barrel off the wagon. He didn’t know anyone capable of doing that. He could leverage it off the bed of the dray and onto the ground. From there, he’d roll it to wherever it had to go. Both jobs the brewer struggled to do.
He remained silent, maintaining his deaf and dumb act. Oliver stepped in front of Roger and made different symbols with his fingers in an adlibbed faked sign language. Far as Roger could tell, it bore no resemblance to actual sign language. It looked like a weird marrying of rapper gang signs and the slapstick language used by the Three Stooges. Roger bit his lower lip to keep a straight face.
“What are you doing?” the brewer asked.
“It’s a system of communication my friend and I developed.”
“Why doesn’t he speak for himself? He has a tongue, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he has a tongue, but he’s deaf and cannot speak.”
The man folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wagon’s sideboard, watching Oliver finger-wiggle nonsense. He stopped after a respectable amount of time. Whether it was close to how long signing took for real, Roger didn’t know. They only had to fool the brewer. Oliver gestured open-handed and Roger took that for his cue to respond.
He nodded.
“What did you say?” the brewer asked.
“I asked if he was sure he could move the barrels wherever you wished. He is.”
The information was met with silence. Oliver shot Roger a worried look. Roger just shrugged. He had no idea what to make of the silence. He thought it had to mean the man wasn’t interested. He started to walk away but Oliver stopped him and Roger turned around.
The brewer removed three tankards from under the cart’s bench seat. He set them on the edge of the step-up at the side of the bench and then went to the rear of the wagon. It took three failed attempts before he climbed slowly and awkwardly onto the bed.
“Hand me those tankards,” he told Oliver.
Oliver lifted them up and the man filled all three with beer from the back barrel then handed them to Oliver.
“My name is John,” the brewer said and lowered himself to the ground. “I can use the help. You’ll have ample space to sleep in my barn loft and food in your belly while you work.” He took a long pull of beer, looked Roger over and said, “My nephew is strong as an ox like your friend looks to be and as big an oaf, too. He’s hears but doesn’t listen. Sadly, he does speak.”
****
Oliver shared the bench with John, while Roger was relegated to sitting with the barrels. They spent two days delivering to surrounding villages. Finally, at the end of the second day, Oliver learned deliveries to the castle were twice weekly. One was due the next day.
That morning the wagon rumbled across the stone road that led directly from the walled town into the castle bailey. The short ride gave Roger a close-up view of the fortifications. It reconfirmed what he already concluded: no weak spots existed, not on this side of the castle. He’d wondered if the foundations and supports for the suspension bridge that served as a crossing over the estuary might be a better choice. They might offer footholds in the stone as well as blind spots. His discouraging, limited view of the bridge revealed an attempt to enter was futile. Edward’s architect had insured that multiple checkpoints at each end of the bridge provided the guards a clear line of sight.
He had to give credit where credit was due. The Prince’s great grandfather certainly knew how to build an impregnable structure. Momentary peevishness shot through him at how this castle showed his chateau as sorely lacking.
As they crossed into the bailey, Roger stood and scanned every corner of the courtyard, searching every female face for Electra. He jumped to the ground before the dray stopped completely. Several people came from the keep to greet John. After a brief conversation with a high ranking staff member, based on the man’s better clothing, John joined Roger and Oliver who waited for his orders.
“The castle wants all we have,” John said. “Tell Roger to take them to the storage room at the rear of the kitchen. There will be a servant to show him where it is.”
Roger unloaded quickly. If Electra was on the grounds, she’d likely be in the kitchen. If he saw her, he only needed to get her attention.
He rounded the corner tower on the southwest side of the castle when a servant intercepted him and waved him to the storage room. The close proximity to the kitchen didn’t help. He couldn’t see inside. The servant girl left him alone in the storage area. Roger hung back, hiding in the shadow of the tower straining to hear Electra’s voice. He stayed hidden as long as he could without drawing attention when she came outside. A cluster of servant girls surrounded her and the group went in the opposite direction, into a vegetable garden.
He had to take a chance, had to at least let her see him. He started toward the garden just as Oliver and John came round the tower pushing and rolling a barrel. “Tell him to get back to work,” John told Oliver.
Oliver gave Roger a shove on the shoulder and jerked his thumb in the direction of the wagon. He had no choice but to return to the bailey and keep unloading.
He didn’t see Electra again.
****
“What a relief to know she’s still here,” Roger said. Worry the Prince sent her somewhere else had hung in the back of his mind. One trouble gone but the remaining problems of rescuing her loomed like the heads of a hydra. First hydra head had been getting back to where she was in time. Done. Second head: finding where she and Emily were, praying it was close. Done. Third head: release from custody at Elysian Fields. Fourth head: working his way to Wales. Fifth head: confirming she was still at Conwy. He’d come to the sixth head: figuring a way to escape with her when she was being kept in an impossible to penetrate castle. He’d deal with hydra head seven, eight, and nine once he got her away from Conwy. And there’d no doubt be a seven, eight, and nine.
“We’re bound to see her in the town. Sooner or later, she’ll come to the market to shop.”
One of the imminent hydra heads. “They’ll never let her come alone. Too dangerous.”
“Since you’ve not discussed a plan with me for when that happens, I guess it’s safe to say, you haven’t one.”
The truth in the observation shamed Roger. What sort of man fails to find any path to save the one he loves? He tossed back the rest of the beer from their evening meal and got to his feet. He grabbed the curry comb and brush from a hook on the wall and went into Chuff’s stall.
John had spared no expense and owned a fine shire horse in Chuff. The animal stood seventeen hands high and weighed close to twenty-four hundred pounds by Roger’s estimate. The stallion’s hooves were healthy. Roger lifted his lip. Chuff still had some milk teeth but incisors had grown in, which put him about two-and-a-half, or three years of age. His Conquerant was six. He missed the destrier. Alex promised to exercise the fiery horse. Dickie, the stable manager’s son offered, but Roger didn’t trust his ability to handle him. Alex had expert experience and the strength needed for a large, high-spirited horse.
“I know how heavily everything is weighing on you,” Oliver said. “I can sense how you’re beating yourself up inside. Keeping the worry and blame bottled up is unhealthy. I’ve a willing ear for all that troubles you.”
Roger brushed the day’s dust off Chuff, then curried away shed hair from his coat. He vigorously brushed the stallion again, paying special attention to the feathery feet, mane and tail.
Oliver came over. “Roger—”
Roger tugged on Oliver’s arm and pulled him away. “Don’t stand behind the horse. It’s dangerous.”
“You’re not going to talk, are you?”
“Nothing to say.”
Roger had no clue what the name meant to John but what did it matter? “Yes.” He stepped from the stall. “You coming out?”
Oliver went straight to the loft’s ladder from the stall. “Tomorrow’s another day, Roger. Try to get some sleep.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Conwy, Wales
They’d just finished delivering to the Dragon’s Heart Inn. On the front of the tavern, above the door, hung the usual wooden sign seen at pubs for centuries. The Dragon’s Heart had the red dragon symbol of Wales, rampant, with a bleeding heart in its claw.
“Look at that,” Roger said, pointing to the sign. “I really like it, rather dynamic painting, don’t you think?”
“I do. If I were to ever buy a pub, I’d give it a fierce name, like Dragon’s Heart,” Oliver said.
“Do you want to own a pub?”
“I’ve no desire to retire from science yet, but I’d like to have a pub in addition to my work. Lend a hand behind the bar on busy nights, enjoy a chinwag with the folks who stop for a pint.”
Roger laid a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “It’s a fine ambition. I hope Electra and I will be regular customers.”
“Look,” Oliver tipped his chin toward the intersection of the town’s wall and the road joining it to the castle.
Two knights and Electra had entered the town square. Roger took two quick strides toward the party.
“Wait,” Oliver said, pulling on his arm. “Let me go first. I can get closer to her than you. I don’t look like a threat and the knights might see you as one. To them, I’m a doughy, grey-haired old man. You, on the other hand, are a younger, stronger fellow with possible mischief on his mind.”
Roger looked to see where John was. He’d taken up a spot on the tavern’s stone wall and was drinking a tankard of beer with the Dragon’s owner.
“Go. Let her see you.” Roger’s gaze was fixed on only Electra.
Oliver passed by her and whispered, “To your left, under the sign.”
Electra yelped but choked it off before she drew too much attention. She was pretty sure there was an, “Oh, my God,” mixed in with the yip too.
Roger. She feared she’d never see him again and here he was a few yards away. Without thinking, she ran to him and he hurried toward her.
“Halt,” Horatio stepped between them, sword drawn. He fixed his sword inches from Roger’s chest. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Percival, who’d also drawn his sword held her by the arm. At the same time, Oliver had rushed back. Electra broke away from Percival and ran between Horatio and Roger. She pushed Horatio’s sword away. “Don’t hurt him, Horatio, please. It is my fault. I thought he was someone I knew.”
“Perhaps, but the oaf rushed toward you as well. He cannot have had good intent. Look at him.” He scanned Roger’s appearance with a look of disgust. “What was your intent, scullion?”
“He is deaf and doesn’t have the ability to speak,” Oliver interjected. “He doesn’t understand what he did wrong. He likely assumed she wanted him to do something.”
“You are his friend and will say whatever is necessary to keep him from the thrashing he deserves,” Percival said. “Cuff the whoreson hard about the ear,” he told Horatio. “Let it be a lesson.”
Horatio and Percival exchanged a smile, then Horatio, clubbed Roger on the ear with the pommel on his sword hilt. Electra shot a hand out to stop him from striking Roger but wasn’t fast enough. “Let that be a lesson to your friend.”
Roger staggered and put a hand to his ear, which was now angry red.
Electra turned and hit Horatio with balled fists against his chest. “Stop it. Right now. Both of you. This is cowardly behavior and you should be ashamed. You heard the man. This fellow is deaf and probably has no idea what he’d done wrong. Get out of my sight for a minute. I am angry with you and don’t want to see or hear you for a bit. For heaven’s sake, sheath your swords.”
“We cannot leave your sight, Lady Electra. You are our charge,” Horatio said, sword in hand and making no effort to sheath it.
“Then please step away and let me speak to the old man so he can communicate my apologies to the...oaf.”
Neither knight looked happy to do what she asked, but after a moment complied. “As you wish, but we will remain close at hand.”
Electra bent in and whispered so only Oliver would hear, “Meet me at the church in an hour. It’s empty in the afternoon. I’ll be in the confessional on the west wall.”
Oliver kept his expression sober, smiling and nodding when Electra finished. She returned his smile and rejoined Percival and Horatio.
****
It took some fast talking, but Electra finally convinced her knight shadows to go and enjoy a drink at the tavern. She told them that she missed her sister desperately and wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She wished to light a candle and enjoy the tranquility of the church.
She withdrew the hanky she kept stuffed in her sleeve whenever she went into the town. Baths for local folk were few and far between, it helped to have a perfumed handkerchief handy. She crushed sprigs of lavender to scent hers. Lavender wasn’t her favorite scent but it was better than the alternative.
In the entry to the nave, Electra put the hanky on her head and willed it to stay. As hoped, St. Michael’s was empty of parishioners and priests. She skirted along the walls, staying in their shadows just in case someone was there but out of sight. At the first bank of votive candles, she paused to light one even though she wasn’t Catholic. Why not light one and ask for saintly intervention? Couldn’t hurt.
She wasn’t sure which saint the candles paid tribute to but she thought logically it was the Archangel Michael the church was named for. Powerful chap, Michael. If any saint could influence the outcome of this time travel debacle, he’d be the one to do it...so she hoped. She only attended church on special occasions like Midnight Mass or wedding ceremonies. Although Anglican, she had to confess to envying the Catholics their Midnight Mass with its grand pageantry and grand choirs singing carols. Her local vicar wasn’t a huge fan of “showy choirs.”
After she pled her case to the statue, she wasn’t certain how to put the finish point on it. Catholics made the sign of the cross. Instead, she said her thanks and gave a little curtsy and then moved on toward the confessional. She felt bad about abusing the sanctity of the confessional but choices were few.
When she reached the dark oak closet-like compartment with intricately carved doors, she listened for voices. Hearing none, she knocked on both doors to make sure no one was inside. No one answered and she quickly entered and sat on the narrow seat provided. Her side of the two cubicles had a knob on the latticed window, indicating the priest’s side.
Sweat beaded her forehead within the first minute. Summer heat, the stuffy compartment, and the weight of her wool gown, turned the space into hot coffin. She wouldn’t be surprised to discover priests flopped out with heat exhaustion on a regular basis.
Footsteps echoed across the nave. Then they stopped and she questioned whether she’d really heard them. Worse, what if it was a suspicious priest sneaking up on tiptoe? The door on the other half of the confessional slowly opened. Please be Roger. Please be Roger. She peered one-eyed through the lattice work.
“Thank heavens, it is you,” she said, breathy with relief and excitement. She tried to slide the window open, hoping for a kiss but the damn thing refused to budge.
Roger closed the door and dropped down to kneel on the prie-dieu provided for parishioners. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“No. I was frightened I’d been found out.” She reached through the window’s fretting with her fingers and Roger kissed each. “I love you so much and have missed you so much. I was afraid I’d never see you again. You must’ve seen Emily to know I was here. Is she still fine? How wer
e you able to come to this time? Can we use the same way to get back? God, I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t run out of breath.” He grasped her fingers and held onto them. “You’ve no idea how happy and relieved I am to find you and see you’re well. In answer to your questions: I love you too much to not turn the world upside down to get to you. The time passage is somehow triggered through the outcropping where you picked flowers. A form of super lightning is the trigger source. I don’t know if we can get back that way, but if we can’t return to our time, we’ll go to my chateau in Normandy. As for Emily, she’s doing fine.”
“What do you mean your chateau?” Was he suggesting he’d traveled through time before? Stephen was from this time and came forward. “Are you saying you came from this time originally because I know Stephen did?”
“Yes. How did you learn about Stephen? Never mind, that’s not important right now—”
“No, it isn’t. I want to know about you. Were you ever going to tell me the truth?”
“Yes, and I promise I’ll tell you the whole story soon. First we need to figure a way to get you out of the castle and the Prince’s retinue.”
“The castle is tough to break into. The Prince is incredibly conscientious about security. If you were able to get inside and reach me, we couldn’t escape through the walled part of the town. He has guards posted everywhere.”
“But he does allow you to walk freely in the town. The guards know you and would give you passage. I can pose as a deaf beggar and Oliver my father, together we can finagle a way out.”
“I don’t have freedom of movement. I have an escort everywhere I go. You saw them.”
“Those knights go everywhere with you?”
She nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see her well through the window decoration. “The Prince wants us to become acquainted. He wants me to marry one of them.”
His fingers tightened hard over hers. “What?”
“Edward doesn’t believe a woman should remain unmarried. He likes those two and thinks either will make me a good husband.”
In Time for You Page 23
