Conwy, Wales
“Oh dear, the river is it, the only way?” Oliver lamented.
“Seems so.” All afternoon, Roger’s thoughts never ventured far from that reality. “I’m not overly concerned,” Roger lied. “We’ll search out a boat someone has dragged onto the bank and left. A small rowboat will do. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“I can’t help wishing we had some other way. This is your nightmare come to life.”
Roger didn’t need the reminder. “As long as I’m in a boat, I’m fine. Tonight I’ll take one side of the riverbank and you go the opposite direction. Let’s see if we can scout out a vessel. I don’t want to risk not locating one tomorrow.”
****
Oliver waited for Roger where they agreed to meet following their search. Roger had walked two kilometers without seeing a boat, which he found unusual. In Normandy, the beach by his chateau was dotted with small boats the locals used to fish from. They weren’t elaborate or sturdy enough to take very far from shore but suited as an additional way to put fish on the table.
In his old lifetime, he liked to fish when the weather permitted. It was a relaxing way to spend a morning or afternoon. Thoughts of his late wife’s love for another man or the persistent heartache over the death of his son, or the frustration of the King’s rising war tax all drifted away. If he caught something, great, if not, that was fine too, although he usually caught a bucketful. Whether he and Electra wound up back in the modern world, or escaped to his chateau and spent their days in this time, he’d start fishing again.
“How’d you do? Find anything useful?” Roger asked as he joined Oliver.
“I did. It’s a worn, old wooden beast, but she only has to float.”
“Where?”
“A kilometer past the estuary.”
“As soon as we’re finished for the day tomorrow, we’ll set up on the spot. The owner will likely leave for home by dusk. We’ll take it then and wait until dark to bring it ashore.”
“I feel bad leaving John in the lurch. He did, after all, take us on as helpers. He’ll wonder where we’ve disappeared to,” Oliver said.
“I know. I don’t like it either. If I had extra funds, I’d leave him some money to compensate. We don’t dare tell him we’re leaving as it might arouse suspicion.”
Oliver accepted the situation, nodding in agreement.
****
Roger took a deep breath. In battle, he only thought to fight, to try and win, and hopefully to live to see the next sunrise. The fate of the battle was out of his hands. That made the end, whatever it might be, easier to face than what he faced this night. Tonight, Electra’s fate was his to secure for good or to fail at, placing her in peril.
At dusk the next night they watched the spot where Oliver had seen the boat. As predicted, a poorly dressed man set his oars in the locks and hopped out when he was close to shore, pulling the boat up onto the bank.
After the man was out of sight, Roger pushed the boat into the water with Oliver’s help. When he was knee deep, he leapt inside and took up the oars while Oliver scrambled in behind. There was only one set of oars. Roger rowed and Oliver kept his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble. They reached the mouth of the harbor to the rear of the castle and Roger ceased rowing. In the fading light, he’d rowed into a spot where a large pod of seals gathered. A chorus of animals barked their protest at the intruders. A flicker of panic shot through Roger that the racket would attract the attention of the men on the walls, but he didn’t see any extra activity.
The sky finally turned dark blue and the crescent moon provided all the light needed to see Electra’s silhouette on the sandy bank.
Roger rowed like a Viking with a Saxon monastery in his sight. The current was swift and strong and pulled against his effort. For every ten feet forward, he lost three to the water’s opposing force. He unwittingly rowed into the path of more powerful current than they’d encountered so far. He dipped the oars deep but couldn’t keep the boat on course. A loud thump followed a violent push of the current that sent the boat into the jagged rocks that lined the western shore. He thought his strength would give out but Roger finally pulled away from the dangerous shoreline.
“Oh dear,” Oliver said. “We’ve sprung a leak.”
“What?”
“The rocks put a gash in the side. We’re taking on water but not too badly. I’ll bail what I can.”
“Damnation.”
“We won’t be able to use this to escape,” Oliver said, huffing as he bailed.
“One worry at a time.”
They didn’t get far. Something was wrong—very wrong. Roger put his whole back into the rowing, but the boat barely moved. A heavy weight in the stern wrenched the boat further down into the water. He turned to see, Oliver bailing like mad. “I thought you said we weren’t taking on much water.”
“There’s a second gash, a nasty one I didn’t see right away. I’m sorry.”
“Keep bailing. I’ve got to try to get us in closer to where the water isn’t over my head. I can wade ashore if it’s only chest deep.”
The back end dipped hard and as Oliver shifted toward Roger, the boat tipped, spilling both men into the river. The dark, frigid water momentarily shocked Roger before he got his bearings. He lifted his arms high to stroke his way to the surface, but his tall boots filled fast, dragging him down. The roar from the rush of water filled his ears as he floated. Then, the roar turned silent. He tried to get the boots off but the wet leather wouldn’t give.
He thrashed, pushing, fighting upward when a swift crosscurrent sent him tumbling. In his panic, he accidentally inhaled. Water surged through his nose, burning like acid. When he finally stopped spinning, he flailed and beat at the water with all his strength, hoping to find the surface again or even grab onto a piece of the boat, anything. He pumped with his legs and bumped something with his foot. If it was part of a submerged rock shelf, he’d crawl his way up. He reached both arms out.
Instead of expected rock, his fingers curled into the soft sand. Disoriented by the tossing and turning of the crosscurrent, he’d sunk to the bottom.
Someone hooked an arm around his neck and tugged, then let go. They reached again and found the collar of his shirt but again let go. He thought his lungs might explode and he desperately wanted to open his mouth and take a breath. Then, the feeling passed and strange thoughts floated in and out of his head. He let go, let himself drift.
His eyes closed. He was dying. He wasn’t afraid. He’d faced death many times in battle. He’d willingly face death again, anytime, anyplace, just not now. Not now.
****
Someone pressed their hands repeatedly on his chest. Foul-tasting water spewed from his mouth and ran down his chin. Blinking, his vision blurred, he pushed the hands away and turned onto his side.
“Roger. Roger.” A woman shouted his name. Electra? She sounded far away. He pushed himself up to his knees. A coughing fit racked him and he vomited water several times. When the worst had passed he sat back and sucked in great gulps of air. He tipped his head to the left and right to let the water run out his ears. He turned as Electra wrapped her arms around him.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she said.
He pulled her close and held her tight, grim in the knowledge he failed. Next to her sat Oliver. Behind them a dripping wet guard sat on the ground putting on his boots as a dry guard stood by.
“You pulled me out?” Roger asked the wet guard.
The guard nodded.
“I’m so sorry,” Oliver interjected. “I tried to pull you out but didn’t have the strength. “Thank heavens these two got to you with a boat from the castle.”
“All I wanted was to save you and I’ve failed.” He kissed Electra, he figured for the last time. The guards would have him before the prince in a thrice. From there it was anybody’s guess what would happen to him.
“Don’t talk like that. I won’t have it. You’re alive and that’s all that matters,” she said, wet streaks on her cheeks glistening in the pale moonlight. He couldn’t tell if they were tears or from his damp self.
“How did you see us from the wall?” he asked the dry guard.
“We didn’t. The lady screamed for help. We were on the rear gate standing watch. We ran to her and she pointed out the spot your boat sank.”
Roger stood and asked, “I expect you’ll be taking me to the Prince.”
“Where else, Frenchman?” the wet one said. “Go on then, gates straight ahead.”
A cool breeze from the distant Irish Sea blew over him and Roger began to shiver, his cold, wet shirt clinging to him. He couldn’t stop shaking. Circumstances were bad enough without the humiliation of the Prince thinking he was trembling in fear.
Electra picked up Roger’s drenched boots and poured out the water that remained inside. “I suppose you’ll want me to go with them to Edward?”
The guard snorted. “I think he will be most interested in hearing what you were doing on the shore as a Frenchie just happened to be coming your way.”
“Right,” she said and sighed.