Conwy, Wales
“Whatever Edward the First paid his master builder, it wasn’t enough.” Roger eyed the formidable fortress from the bordering woods. The castle sat on a narrow, rocky knoll overlooking a river to the rear and a walled town to the front. The town’s wall was part of the castle’s, extending from the high curtain wall that surrounded the fortress and its grounds. Roger counted two barbicans and eight, equally-spaced massive towers, four on the south side and four on the north. The towers divided the wall into three sections. Between them, twin defensive arrowloops had been carved running along a common battlement line.
“Did you know a river ran next to the castle?” Roger asked.
“Yes.”
Resentment fueled by anger welled in Roger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What difference would it have made? If it sat on a volcano, you’d have come for Electra.”
Oliver was right but Roger didn’t feel like letting the truth dampen his anger. He hated to admit it even to himself, a knot of trepidation tainted his anger. “You should’ve told me.”
“Sorry.”
Roger scrambled to the top of the hill they were on to get a better view of the exterior layout. The better view confirmed his worst fears. He couldn’t see the slightest vulnerability. “Mon Dieu.”
“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” Oliver asked.
“Did he expect the Scots to come all this way to attack?”
“He didn’t build it to protect against the Scots. He built it to defend against the Welsh. Rebellion against the English was rampant here at the time.”
“Think some of that ill will has carried over?”
Oliver shrugged. “Hard to say. That was many decades ago. Things change. Attitudes soften. A whole lot of Welsh bowmen enjoyed taking your lot out at Crecy and Poitiers.”
Roger knew too well how many bowmen fought them in France. He’d ridden into a rainstorm of those arrows. It’d just be damned convenient if they could convince a local to help them. From where he stood, his odds of getting inside the castle looked slim-to-none. Since the prince used Electra as his cook, sooner or later, she’d have to shop at the village market. A local place to hide out, the market gave him the best opportunity of seeing her and hopefully communicating.
Oliver laid a fatherly hand on his arm. “I know what you’re thinking, but I wouldn’t risk it. Most folk would be too tempted by the possibility of reward for turning you in than in hiding you.”
Sadly, Oliver was right again. “Any other ideas?”
“Funny how that question keeps coming up and the answer has always been for us to muddle through.”
“That was then. We’ve come this far. I won’t go away without her, even if it kills me,” Roger said and thought there was a better chance of that happening than his rescuing Electra.
“What I’m trying to say and failing to is—I believe, somehow, we’ll figure a way to save her without making a cock up of everything. You need to believe it as well.”
Roger suddenly found himself in a bear hug. The top of Oliver’s head only reached Roger’s nose, but the older man had him in a firm hold.
“You’re like my second son. I won’t let you contemplate failure,” Oliver said and gave Roger a couple hard pats on the back.
“Thank you, Oliver. I appreciate your faith in me.” On one hand, Roger was truly appreciative of Oliver’s belief, and on the other hand, he worried it was wasted.