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.”
Made sense. What royal court anywhere didn’t have its fair share of court vultures waiting to swoop down and take advantage?
“I do need some additional supplies. I’d like to go into the abbey first and light a candle,” Electra said.
“Does Greenland follow the dictates of Rome?”
“No. There’s just someone I wish to ask protection for.”
The Prince offered a knowing smile. “There is someone you love you left behind. A man, yes?”
She nodded.
“Does this man love you as well?”
“I like to think he did.”
“Then, why did you and your sister leave? Why are you not married?”
“I believe he was close to asking, but he hadn’t done so yet.”
The Prince looked puzzled. She ran through a list of possible answers that would make sense to a man of this time, a time when women simply didn’t act on their own often. He’d think her silly but she said the best reason she had. “Emily and I thought to have one last adventure before I settled down to marriage and a family.”
It occurred to her for the ten-thousandth time, that had she not gone to gather stupid wildflowers, she might be engaged by now and safely ensconced in the world she knew.
“Sounds like a strange thing for ladies to do. Borderline foolish and certainly dangerous. A theory borne out by your presence here, lost in what is a foreign land.”
An accurate depiction she didn’t appreciate hearing as her arrival didn’t result from a silly lark on her part.
He leaned in closer to her and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. Her heart shifted into warp speed. Don’t was on the tip of her tongue. If she was a medieval lady of the court and not in love, she’d be thrilled with a Prince’s touch. However, she was a modern commoner and in love with someone else. Even were the last not true, she didn’t need to compound the potential damage she’d already created with the Butterfly Effect.
Edward’s fingers lingered on her cheek. “Are you intimate?”
“I have no intention of answering that, Your Highness. It’s not very chivalrous of you to ask.”
“You have answered.” He swept his fingers down her cheek along her jaw and up her other cheek. “Do you miss a man’s touch?”
“I miss his touch.”
The Prince dropped his hand and drew back. “He’s a fortunate man.”
He kept his deep blue eyes focused on her, his face a blank canvas except for those shrewd eyes. What was he thinking? Did she really want to know? No. It was likely something troubling or scary and she was full up on both.
“If we cannot find a way to return you to your homeland, you should marry. You need a man to protect you.”
Where was he going with this? She sat dumbstruck and the Prince continued, “Two of my men would suit well.” He pointed to the two stopped ahead, talking together. “The man on the left is Percival. The one on the right is Horatio. Both are superior knights and would make fine husbands. You’ll get many children out of them.”
“I...I...” Good Lord, she couldn’t form a response. None of the history books ever mentioned the Black Prince was a matchmaking prince. Electra suspected this might be a first for him. An honor she’d never have sought.
“A cook could do much worse,” he added in a matter-of-fact tone.
His choices were nice, if she was anybody else. Percival looked in his late 20’s and Horatio looked about mid 30’s. Both were attractive. They weren’t her type, but they weren’t gargoyles either. She’d describe them as armored bookends. Each had brown hair and eyes and were similar in height with close-cut beards. The biggest difference was Horatio had a plump face with bright apple cheeks and Percival’s face was longer and his complexion darker.
“I can’t marry. I’m in love with someone else,” she said, finding her voice.
“I understand. That man is not here and your hopes may never come about. My suggestion is an alternative. No need to make a decision right away,” the Prince said. “Think about your future.”
“I’d like to light that candle now,” Electra said, feeling the whir of a thousand butterflies buzzing in her stomach as Percival looked her way.
“Why do you participate in a ritual not of your faith?”
“I take hope where I find it.”
A moment passed in silence. It worried her.
“I wonder, Lady Electra, how it is you know about lighting a candle for a special need when your land does not follow Rome?”
“Um...travelers. Visitors to my country from Europe.” Note to self: don’t offer an answer unless you can explain it.
He nodded and then waved two knights forward. “The Lady Electra wishes some private time in the church. Wait for her. When she’s done, escort her as she goes about her business.” He turned to her. “Don’t go anywhere out of my men’s sight.”
“I won’t.”
She entered the abbey and was briefly taken aback by the lack of chairs or pews. She’d forgotten that worshipers in this time period stood during mass. A votive candle rack was set before a statue of Jesus and one before the Virgin Mary. She lit a taper in front of each, one for Roger and one for Emily. She kept her requests short. She considered lighting one for herself but changed her mind, afraid of looking pushy.
Behind her someone coughed. Turning, she saw it was Horatio observing from the entry along with Percival. “Another minute, please.”
The knight signaled his approval with an open-handed gesture.
Electra pushed the marriage conversation from the forefront of her mind. She had to fix her thoughts someplace safe. She turned her attention to the windows. She enjoyed crafts. In the last few years, she’d taken classes at the local nursery, learning to make wind chimes and sun catchers. She took a pottery class with lopsided, ugly results. She’d also taken a stained glass class and loved it. Each of her sisters and her parents received a small window for Christmas that year. She made two that hung in front of her drawing room windows. One a floral design and the other a whimsical red squirrel with an acorn.
She strolled to the abbey’s stained glass windows and studied the colors and techniques and remarkable patience involved in their creation.
One displayed four famous men of the period. She recognized the names of only two. The window she admired most was of King Solomon and the four prophets. The King David window with four prophets was brilliant but the colors in the Solomon were more vibrant. Vibrant blues, greens, and ochre’s, always drew her eye.
The Last Judgment and Coronation of the Virgin were depicted in the Rose Window. She didn’t care for it. Guilt over her lack of appreciation or reverence for the piece escaped her.
Another cough interrupted her wanderings. “The merchants and peddlers await you, milady. They’ve been told of our arrival,” Horatio said.
“Thank you. I’m ready to go.”
Outside, Percival pulled a coin from a pouch on his baldric and placed it in the palm of a blind beggar who’d approached them. The beggar reminded Electra of Stephen, Esme’s blind husband. Thankfully, he lived in an enlightened time where he needn’t beg.
“I didn’t ask the Prince, but am I to cook for the rest of our party tonight?”
Horatio shook his head. “No, we are on our own this night. Percy and I are to escort you to a quality tavern we know of here, where we’ll sup. The innkeeper has made a room available for you to stay.”
A woman alone, in a strange inn, above a tavern? Electra didn’t like the sound of that. “You’re leaving me alone in this place?”
“No, milady. That would be very unworthy. Percy and I will sleep outside your door all night.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. Sorry you have to sleep on the floor and babysit me.”
Horatio and Percy tipped their heads like a big puppeteer in the sky controlled them with the same string. “Pardon? What do you mean babysit?” Horatio asked.
“Nothing. It’s a funny expression we use in Greenland.”
“We are yours to direct. Where to first?”
“The markets then the tavern.” She wasn’t much of a beer drinker, preferring wine or scotch, but tonight she’d down whatever the tavern had. She’d never needed a drink more.