Gisborne: Book of Pawns

by Prue Batten

  Our pace did not slacken. We continued at a canter through the bucolic countryside as the dawn light strengthened from grey to oyster. The thundering rhythm startled birds, and people lifted their heads and stared as we passed. In the fields, men stilled their oxen from ploughing and their wives ceased collecting the weeds in sacks or trugs, the seasonal work broken for a moment as they watched and wondered. The rich tilled earth provided a foil to the greener fields close by. I could imagine the scene painstakingly translated on parchment or vellum with a skilled hand laying down colour and then transcribing words that might indicate the seasons or the hours of the day in any month – a scene in a book that Guy would love I was sure.

  We had many leagues to cover and I could feel my legs tiring, the inhuman stretch of my thighs across Monty’s back threatening to unseat me. Periodically over difficult stretches of the road, when it narrowed or when we approached large travelling groups, we would slow to a walk on the cry of a disembodied voice far ahead. The command would feed back through the ranks and thanking God for the reprieve, I would stand in my stirrups to stretch my legs. Once I even thrust one leg over Monty’s wither, jamming my thighs together to try and rest them, but Guy glanced over and frowned and I desisted, groaning as I felt for the stirrup and heard the call to canter on.

  The distance we traveled passed in a blur and I lost interest in the surroundings, discomfort tainting everything. When we finally halted at midday, barely a single part of my body was without pain and I dreaded the moment of dismount, knowing that dressed as a young man I must do without Gisborne’s strong hands to help me. I gritted my teeth and jumped down, falling against Monty’s damp shoulder.

  ‘Can you manage?’ Gisborne moved in next to me as I closed my eyes and lay my forehead on the horse’s shoulder. His hand reached around my waist as I sagged. ‘Ysabel,’ he whispered. ‘Alright?’

  A soldier dressed in the unknown black livery walked past looking for trees against which to relieve himself. He glanced at us with open curiosity, his gaze fixing on Gisborne’s enclosing hand.

  ‘It’s too loose,’ said Guy as his fingers slipped behind Monty’s girth. ‘Make sure you tighten it before we mount again.’ He muttered to the soldier as he turned away. ‘Can’t find a decent squire for love nor money.’

  Love nor money.

  The soldier nodded and proceeded to piss in full view against the trunk of an oak. Gisborne turned to me whilst the soldier had his hands full and lifted his eyebrows. His mood seemed lighter to be sure and I wondered if it was because each league we covered we were one league closer to England.

  I gave passing thought to the way his moods shifted and whether I could cope with his tortuous mindsets in the long term. But then I cast my mind back to the many kindnesses he had shown me as he was forced to reveal my family’s straitened circumstances. I decided that despite his dour and withdrawn moments, despite his callous philosophy of status being power, he had shown me respect. And in all honesty, there remained in me the faintest hope that I would find Moncrieff safe and my father happy to have his daughter once again in the fold.

  Chapter Five

  Monty’s coat became slick with lather despite his astonishing stamina and as I looked between his ears I marveled at the campaign animals in front of me. I could only imagine the courage and steadfastness that rushed through their veins.

  We stopped twice more for short rests until the final longed-for halt was called. In flat, tussocky land that spread for miles we stopped to make camp. To our right flank was an immense coppice of spindly birches, their leaves the acid green of spring, most in bud and summer not far away. A stream sketched a languid line from its distant source, trickling past our feet to flow to the coast far off. It barely ran and I wondered if every horse would suck it dry.

  Guy was close and our eyes met and I could see he felt sympathy for me and what he had put me through with this subterfuge. And yet I understood. The merchants had told of our dangers; that there were brigands and lawless barons all across this moorland who would think nothing of picking we dozen off. I would have loved to make mention of our own fatal run-in earlier in our travels but Guy’s eyes barely flickered to warn me to maintain my charade.

  As I looked around, I began to feel some awkwardness, even concern. Clustered in myriad bunches unsaddling horses, tethering, lighting fires, and doing any number of other such necessary things were one hundred and sixty one men. Whilst I might resemble a youth, my skin prickled at the thought that I was the only woman amongst such lusty and perhaps unbridled company. I kept my head down, unsaddling Monty, tethering him close to the stream where he could drink his fill and eat. I knotted up some tussocks and dragged them over his body to remove the sweat, concentrating on his spine and girth where he might suffer friction galls on the morrow. I was conscious of Gisborne watching me, knowing he could do nothing to help because I was after all a mere squire. My job was to serve my master and such scrutiny made me blush but I lifted my eyes to his. His mouth twitched, nothing more.

  I walked over to his mount and began strapping him, wiping with a smooth motion and settling the animal. I picked up his giant hooves and checked them for stones caught on the edges of the shoes and then retired to sort out the saddlery and make some sort of bedding for us. We had saddles for pillows and our cloaks for warmth and a large saddlecloth each that could be another layer. For the rest, we should have to sleep close to the fire and hope we would be warm because we could hardly lie curled against each other the way we had previously.

  I fished in the saddlebags and found bread that had been sliced into thick pieces, some salted pork and a slab of cheese, and was surprised to find my stomach rumbling. The forced pace of the ride had pushed such thoughts far from my head earlier and so I crispened the bread near the coals of the fire, placing slices of the meat with crudely cut cheese onto it so the cheese began to bubble and run. I passed part of the meal to Gisborne as he sat beside me and I began to chew on the other.

  One of the merchants, a smart, loud chap with an eye to his own good looks, spoke to Guy.

  ‘You say he’s a pretty ordinary squire.’ My eyebrows lifted at the comment. ‘But the meal smells good enough and your horses are comfortable and your sleeping arrangements settled.’

  He passed Gisborne a wine bladder and a swig was taken as the fellow continued. ‘Pretty enough fellow too,’ his gaze slid over me and it was obvious he couldn’t see a woman beneath the clothes, only the body of a youth that he might desire.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Gisborne. ‘Pretty enough if you like his sort, and capable with it and tied to a maid as beautiful as he in my demesnes.’

  My eyebrows rose further and I coughed, reaching for some water. The merchant seemed disappointed and I thanked God for Gisborne’s quick thinking.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gisborne. ‘He’s to account for himself to me on this journey as he got his maid with child before we left, and them both unwed. She’ll be dropping the babe just as we are due back. He has a lot to prove apart from how well his oats are sown.’

  Stunned at Guy’s little history, I shook my head, seeking a way to leave these men for the privacy a woman needs. I moved first to the horses to check them, hoping I could move behind and cross to the birch coppice without attracting attention from Gisborne or his dainty merchant friend.

  The shadows were long and night barely a breath away. The moon had risen and was lighting the sky to the east whilst the sun had set in the west casting a bronze glow heavenward. What little light there was lit a path amongst the spindle-thin trunks and my feet crunched older leaf fall occasioning a swift scuttle of forest creatures. Ahead was a shrubbery, waist high with dense enough growth to offer a woman privacy and I heard the chuntering of the stream over pebbles and a desperate urge to cool leg aches and wash away dust led me close to the running water.

  I stripped off my boots and hose and stepped in, the level reaching my knees, the cold water biting into the inflamed skin, strips of red chafing
indicated where the stirrup leathers had rubbed. I splashed my face and drew off the hood, unknotting my hair, feeling the smallest night-breeze finger the strands.

  All around crickets and frogs whirred and croaked and the occasional flutter of wings battered the air as a small bird or some insect dipped past. Above the nocturnal sounds, the army vibrated – shouting and laughter, the burble of men’s voices, the whinny of horses, the crackle of many fires. I pulled the hose and boots back on and stood to walk back to the camp, hood tugged through belt, twisting and knotting unwilling hair into a tight roll. My mind was far away, thinking on my home and a weak father who had forgotten that trust is all and as I turned past a birch, a hand grabbed me and another covered my mouth so that I was pinioned. A powerful arm encircled my chest like a ring of iron.

  ‘Why, what a hard flat chest you have … my lady.’

  I struggled against the hand and a familiar voice whispered in my ear. ‘Now then, my lady, don’t struggle. What do you think the army out there would say if they knew we had a woman of such godly gifts as yours in our midst.’

  He laughed softly and I hated him as much again as I did the first time I met him. My hair had fallen down and covered my shoulders and I could hear him sniffing it.

  ‘Your hair smells so fine, Lady Ysabel. So much nicer than the horse and man sweat that has beleaguered me these last days.’

  He nuzzled under my hair and kissed my neck and I squirmed and tried to kick but his grip tightened and he laughed – a snicker colder than a winter wind.

  ‘I think we could be such loving friends, Lady Ysabel, don’t you? Especially if you don’t want your little secret revealed.’

  I thrashed my head about but he held me more grimly, his grip over my mouth almost suffocating. I tried to open my jaw to bite his fingers but he clamped ever stronger.

  ‘Don’t fight, Lady Ysabel. If you deny me then I shall contrive something terrible against Gisborne out there, maybe even against your father. You wouldn’t want that, would you?’

  I froze. The man had his own kind of influence and I knew it was no idle threat.

  ‘There, what a good girl you are. That’s better. Now, if you move or make a noise when I take my hands away, rest assured I shall indeed cause much suffering to those closest to you. That’s it, just hold still whilst I put this here,’ he placed a gag across my mouth and pulled it tight as he talked as if to a recalcitrant child. ‘Oh what a lovely neck you have. See? That’s not so bad, is it? If I just tie your hands like so, we can get down to business.’

  He stayed behind me all the time but in my mind I could see his face as he rubbed himself against me and I wanted to scream but could barely articulate a moan.

  ‘Now, now…’ he ran a hand down over my shoulder. ‘It’s going to be…’

  The words choked off.

  ‘Halsham,’ Gisborne’s voice whispered. ‘A move and you’re dead.’

  Another movement behind me and a flick and then Gisborne saying, ‘Step away, Ysabel,’ as the bonds at my wrists fell apart. With a stroke of a knife in one hand, Gisborne had freed me whilst with the other he held a misericorde against Halsham’s throat. Moonlight fell between the trees and perhaps it coloured Halsham’s face with pallor or maybe he was actually frightened. Whatever the case, I could see a trickle of blood and would not have been adverse to the repulsive throat being slit, ear to ear.

  ‘Halsham,’ Gisborne growled, more gutteral and filled with anger than I had yet heard. ‘You are a marked man.’

  Halsham laughed. He had courage; I would give him that as the blade pressed his skin – courage or blind stupidity.

  ‘You think, Gisborne? Think again. If you hurt me, who do you think shall be the cur? Myself, who marches with Richard’s men to London or you, a lowly steward?’

  ‘Enough,’ Guy snarled at Halsham and more blood appeared.

  ‘Oh, Gisborne, why trouble yourself for this penniless little has-been? Don’t you know? Moncrieff is no longer her father’s. Not at all. If you thought to buy yourself some sort of sinecure with the family for services rendered, you’re wasting your time.’

  I could barely listen to the man and yet…

  ‘What do you mean?’ My voice cracked as I dragged the gag away.

  ‘Holy Father, she speaks!’ Halsham grinned at me and I was reminded of an image of Beezelbub in an illuminated manuscript I had seen in Aquitaine. ‘I mean, Lady Ysabel,’ he continued, ‘that all you have left now is your title. Your father has ceded the entire domain of Moncrieff to Baron De Courcey in payment of gaming debts.’

  He yelped as Gisborne dug the knife ever deeper so that a stream of blood ran down the knight’s neck to his chemise. ‘Let me go and I shall forget this little event.’

  ‘No! Don’t even think of letting him go!’ I wanted Halsham’s head on a pike.

  ‘Be silent, Ysabel,’ Gisborne muttered and then his hand dropped, Halsham’s coming up to staunch the flow of blood.

  ‘Wise move, sir. Your future is not with her and I can make or break you, never forget. I shall make you pay for this one day,’ he indicated the bloody incision at his neck. ‘Have no doubt. But in the meantime you are a man to be used and I can raise you to heights quite beyond a steward. Think on it, dear chap.’ He sauntered past me. ‘You know, Lady Ysabel, I actually think he just saved me from making a terrible mistake. When I tup I like to get my money’s worth and you, dear lady, have no money.’

  He laughed as he left the coppice and I spat after him, whipping round to Gisborne.

  ‘You double dealing bastard! I trusted you…’ I bundled my hair, yanking the hood over it and went to leave, to saddle Monty and head out on my own but his hand grabbed my arm and he tugged me back.

  ‘Now you know, Ysabel.’ He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Isn’t it what you wondered? You go back to nothing. Nothing beyond an arranged marriage with a noble or with the Church.’

  ‘Better that than with someone like you.’

  I wanted to scratch his face I was so filled with ire.

  ‘I will see you to your father,’ he continued. ‘If he is no longer master of Moncrieff, I am no longer his steward but I will honour Lady Cecilia’s orders.’

  ‘How long have you known about Moncrieff?’ Tears threatened and I hated my weakness.

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Ha!’ I mocked, the expletive bouncing around the glade.

  ‘Why would I waste my time escorting you back to Moncrieff if I thought there was nothing for me to go back to?’

  But I was not listening, not really, wishing to rant as a release for my hurts.

  ‘You thought you would get money from Cecilia at the very least. And notoriety. You are like Halsham, Gisborne. A user.’

  Two hands grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

  Tell me I’m wrong then. I want to be wrong.

  I could barely see his face and then the moon moved away from the branches and lit his eyes and his reply chilled me and thrilled me at once.

  ‘I thought I could use you, yes. But then other things got in the way.’

  ‘What things, Gisborne? My father’s bankruptcy?’

  His eyes burned with a terrifying coldness that I shall never forget. He bent his head and pressed his lips hard against my own and then dragged me back to the camp, stepping amongst snoring bodies and pushing me down onto my bedding.

  I lay for hours, long after I heard his breathing become regular. I hated myself for being a woman who relied on men. I hated my father for being so damnably weak. I hated my mother for dying. I hated the world and God and Mary Mother.

  But more than anything, I think this night I actually hated Guy of Gisborne.

  He reached over my shoulder the next day and hoisted my saddle onto Monty’s back and I pulled the girth under the belly and cinched it up. The long hours lying awake through the night had done nothing to ameliorate my feeling for him. The truth was that I doubted him, doubting my own thinking in the process. How could I trust someo
ne who would allow a man who would rape to go free, for that is what Halsham planned – the rape of a woman. The idea that I could ever place myself in any man’s hands for protection was galling.

  But some weakly female part of me wondered if Gisborne might truly feel some sadness for me. That he worried the news about Moncrieff and my father’s inexorable weaknesses on top of the death of my mother could tip my emotional state. Perhaps that was why he had fed the known facts to me drip by drip like a mother feeding milk through linen to a sickly child.

  But then, I reasoned, if he felt so kindly toward me, why did he let Halsham go? I watched the way his mind worked as he held the knife to Halsham’s throat; the way it said yes, then no. I saw his hand fall and Halsham walk away. That was not the move of a man who cared for my emotional state. It was the action of a man who weighed consequence and erred on the side of … what was it again? Ah yes, status and power, two conditions apparently lacking in my own life.

  The thoughts chased themselves around in my head and Monty took it upon himself to turn toward the merchants’ group and join in as we received the command to move off. Gisborne trotted up beside me but I avoided him with contempt.

  And yet I had to be honest with myself.

  My heart was breaking.

  On so many counts.

  My mother, my icon, was dead. I had lost what little love and respect I had for my father. I had lost my home, my fortune … my future. And the final straw had been realizing how I had misjudged Guy of Gisborne.