Gisborne: Book of Pawns

by Prue Batten

  I smiled.

  ‘Thankyou, Brother John, I am so very grateful you were there for my father at the end.’

  His brow creased as if I spoke of something of which I could not be aware so I hurried on.

  ‘They told me you were with him in his last moments. And I know you would have done as much as it was possible to do to ameliorate my father’s state of mind. You were always his friend.’

  ‘I was that. Even though he continued to beat me at chess until he lost interest.’ He seemed to look at a past reminiscence but then folded it away. ‘But now you are come and we shall walk, visit folk. Maybe you could ride. No? Well then, I shall take you in the punt and we shall fish. You used to love that once.’

  He chattered on and each memory he brought forth was like a sparkling jewel and I could feel my heart begin to brighten as he set gems in it and polished and polished again.

  Eventually I became sleepy and Cecilia and he moved to the fire and sat murmuring. I could not hear and sank into a healing sleep.

  The next few days passed in such a fashion – calmly and without the threat of De Courcey. I had no interest in enquiring what he had disappeared for. He had left a skeleton force and the whole place quieted in consequence, so much so that I felt well enough to walk each day. Eventually I felt strong enough to venture beyond the walls and summoned Ulric who in turn called Brother John. Before we left, cloaks wrapped around in an unkind wind, I asked Cecilia if she had found a small purse on the belt of my steward’s attire.

  ‘In fact yes.’ She delved into her own purse which hung from a twisted leather girdle, revealing my leather pouch and passing it over.

  I opened the cord to withdraw locks of hair. ‘Wilfred’s and Harry’s.’ The memories scalded more than I expected. ‘They were killed as we traveled.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Cecilia’s hands flew to her mouth.

  ‘Jesu,’ said John, his fingers flying as crossed himself.

  Ulric remained silent, staring at the curls as if he could see the story they told.

  ‘Give me your arm if you please, Ulric,’ I asked. ‘We shall visit their families first.’

  Cecilia and John led the way, Ceci leaning on John and with a staff in her other hand. I rested my hand in the crook of Ulric’s arm and he seemed embarrassed as we left by the castle gates, his face flushing as the other men whistled and called.

  ‘The men are illmannered. Take no notice,’ I said. ‘You do me a service, Ulric, for I am still weak.’

  In truth I was not but it served to have him believe he was most necessary to me. Something about his gentility and deference made me wonder if he could be a friend because I needed to build a force of loyal supporters. He was politely quiet when we met with Wilf’s and Harry’s families and I relayed the dreadful story, telling them how brave were the men.

  ‘Were they braver than those soldiers?’

  One of the children pointed to the castle.

  ‘Much braver.’

  As I spoke I silently begged for Ulric’s forgiveness, wanting him to see that I mended children’s broken hearts and nothing else. I would not have him lumped in with the disreputable men that comprised the baron’s army.

  ‘Were they knightly?’

  ‘Mary mother, of course! The most knightly you can imagine. They saved my life as they lost their own, fought like heroes and will always be remembered as such.’

  ‘That baron’s not a real knight.’

  The younger children were outspoken as children often are.

  ‘I fear he is,’ I said. ‘It is best you do not speak thus or his wrath may strike at your families. Will you do that for me? Keep silent? You see the King has deemed him a knight and you must show him respect. You know you can’t gainsay your king.’

  ‘I hate the baron. He takes grain that is ours and we have no bread.’

  ‘Then I shall make sure you have grain back. Don’t fret.’

  Ulric listened to all of this and spoke as we returned to the castle.

  ‘My lady, you might be able to give them grain whilst the baron is gone but he shall find out and may penalize them.’

  ‘Ulric is right, Ysabel,’ said Ceci and Brother John nodded his head. ‘You should not promise what you may not be able to give.’

  ‘I will tell the baron myself. If he has a complaint it shall be with me. Ulric, when we return, please make sure that one bag of grain for each household is taken from the granary. The village is not so big, and I’ll wager the castle granary can afford it. The people are not to starve until the harvest.’

  ‘Are you not afraid?’ Ulric helped me step over a puddle.

  ‘Not now but I shall probably tremble when I confront the baron.’

  ‘You are quite a surprise, my lady.’

  ‘How so?’

  I turned and gave him my full attention. His blonde hair gleamed in the dull light of an insipid sun and his blue eyes stared beyond me to my lake.

  My lake?

  ‘He is…’ he seemed to struggle with his words.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Be careful, my lady.’ His gaze switched to my face and became intense. ‘His temper is … well known.’

  So, he uses his hands, does he?

  ‘Consider me warned, Ulric, and thankyou.’

  The villeins received their grain and life continued in a placid fashion as the leaves thickened and the late spring promised better weather to come. Brother John and I went fishing, caught some pike and talked … at least I talked and he listened. Occasionally his mouth would tighten but he let me empty of my thoughts and hurts.

  Finally, ‘I think Cecilia is right about Guy and that you see it wrong, Ysabel. He was more than honest here and was highly regarded by noble and serf alike. I can’t see the man you talk of at all. It will be proved ultimately, I am sure.’

  ‘You do not convince me, Brother John. And in any case, it is too late.’

  ‘I know. But time will tell. What’s that?’

  We heard a voice shouting from the banks and Ulric waved his cap in the air. Brother John poled us over and Ulric’s face glimmered and flushed as if something was awry.

  ‘Ulric?’ I asked.

  ‘The Baron is returned. The letter from the King has arrived. He wishes you and the Lady Cecilia to attend him in the Hall. Brother John as well.’

  My time of calm had ended, my heart speeding up. But I would not let the others see and so I hopped to the shore, grasping Ulric’s hand, holding the folds of my bliaut high.

  ‘Then let us discover what Richard Plantagenet would do with me. Come on!’ I chastened them. ‘I would not have us suffer the Baron’s wrath so soon.’

  We hurried over the causeway with our fish, tossing the catch to a kitchen-hand and continuing to the Hall where the baron lounged against my father’s chair, his back to us as he played with a thick packet. He turned around as we clattered in, resplendent in a scarlet surcoat. His hair blended with the rich autumnal tints of his clothes and if it wasn’t Benedict De Courcey, one might have been impressed with the figure he cut.

  He glanced at the fish stains on my gown, at my hair blown away from its plait.

  ‘Jesu, there is little of the lady about you now. I shall forgive you because I see you have colour in your cheeks at last and your eyes are clearer.’

  It is not for you to forgive anything.

  I dropped to a curtsy, my head bowed. Might as well start with the pleasantries.

  ‘I am much improved, thank you.’

  ‘If I didn’t want to know immediately what the King shall say, I would ask you to wash and change and return in a state fit to hear what is your future. As it is…’ he passed the packet to Brother John. ‘Open it, priest, and apprise us of the royal wishes.’

  Brother John slipped his finger under the thick royal seal and fragments of red wax fell to the paving stones like drops of blood.

  An execution warrant. Nothing less.

  The parchment crackled and I waited, an out of body e
xperience, cursing my head for its lightness, holding onto Ulric’s arm as to a lifeline. His fingers crept to my hand and squeezed.

  ‘Courage, madam,’ he seemed to say.

  Finally Brother John unfolded the letter and began to read.

  ‘Richard by the grace of God King of England, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine and Count of Anjou, to my Lord Baron De Courcey, greetings. We were saddened to hear of the straitened circumstance of Our cousin, Lady Ysabel of Moncrieff and owe you gratitude for thinking of her care. Our mother Eleanor by that same grace Dowager Queen of England, has let it be known that She would welcome Our cousin to Her court but that She has no purpose for her. As you indicate, Our own Godmother Lady Cecilia Fineux of Upton is also the Lady Ysabel’s godmother and but for her increasing age would have offered fine care of Our cousin. It seems thus that the Lady Ysabel can best be provided for by marriage…’

  I gasped. My future turned and looked at my present and shattered into a million pieces.

  ‘…by marriage,’ Brother John repeated. ‘And it would please Us that a man We respect and admire can offer his hand and his beneficence. We therefore propose and approve the betrothal of Lady Ysabel of Moncrieff to Baron Benedict De Courcey…’ in the silence, Brother John finished the message. ‘… of Moncrieff.’ He looked up. ‘It is of course signed and dated by Richard Plantagenet.’

  I closed my eyes to prevent the world spinning but it continued to spin anyway and I began to pool in fishy folds at Ulric’s feet.

  ‘This is becoming a habit, Lady Cecilia. What ails her?’

  ‘Shock, Baron. What think you? That she is happy to marry a man she barely knows?’

  ‘Other women have done it as a matter of politics since Time began and she maintains a position in her familial home. It should be enough. Not many would want her, penniless as she is and with a reputation.’

  ‘A reputation? What do you say?’

  Cecilia’s ire crept into my brain and sharpened my dulled wits.

  ‘They say she may not be the maid she pretends after weeks alone with Gisborne.’

  My eyes closed with the memories.

  Foolish, naïve Ysabel. Virginity lost. And how you shall pay!

  ‘Have you asked Gisborne?’

  ‘In fact I did and we came to blows, he denying he should want her at all and that I was disparaging his reputation. He also said he had an idea she would be very poor and it did not suit him. I laughed at that.’

  Snake, Gisborne, snake!

  My back ached but I kept quiet.

  ‘Fix her, Lady Cecilia. We shall be married by week’s end. The King cannot be present but a few of my friends shall attend. It shall be a small occasion.’

  ‘Do you not want to shout it from the rooftops to all England, my lord baron?’

  The sarcasm in Cecilia’s tone was as ripe as well-aged game.

  ‘It is enough that the daughter of Moncrieff shall be my wife. And may I say enjoy the next few days with your god daughter because at the end of the marriage banquet, there will be no need of you here any longer.’

  No!

  I heard his boots tap over the floor, spurs jingling and then the door shut.

  Wife, wife, wife!

  But in truth I was not sure what hurt the most; that I should be this man’s wife and consort, that Cecilia was to be banished or that Guy of Gisborne had said he did not want me at all, that I did not suit his reputation and that I was poor. He had said that about me. My back stabbed, the pain convulsing around to my loins and I grunted. Hearing the noise, Cecilia was instantly at my side.

  ‘Huh, you are awake. I think, my dear, that it is time you and I had a little talk.’

  ‘Cecilia, he is sending you away!’ I held her hand tightly, her rings cutting into my palm. ‘I cannot lose you. I cannot survive without you.’

  ‘Hush, we shall not talk of this yet, although I could have gelded the bastard when he spoke.’

  Her hand closed to a fist beneath mine and I could imagine her grabbing his organs and squeezing before delivering a sharp cut and oh, how I would have helped!

  ‘Tell me about this pain of yours,’ she continued. ‘Where is it exactly?’

  I pointed at my lower back and my belly.

  ‘And you are faint and lacking in appetite and I dare say you are nauseous daily. Tell me, when did you last have your courses?’

  Of course I knew. Perhaps I had known all along but in typical Ysabel fashion chose to deny the truth.

  ‘I am with child,’ I whispered.

  Cecilia nodded, her wimple straining against her chin.

  I pushed off the bed and went to the window to stare out, seeing a man with black hair flying off his collar as he strode away. I tried to speak but nothing emerged and so I just shrugged my shoulders. What does one say?

  A crow flew past the window and then back, dipping and soaring on the eddies that circled the tower. I longed for his freedom but I shivered because crows hung about with legend … death, witches, all things unpalatable.

  ‘He will kill me when I produce another man’s child.’

  ‘Most likely.’

  Cecilia, never one to gild a lily, said it like it was, determined to make me face some truths. The fire crackled and then more un-gilded and surprising words reached me from where she stood on the far side of the room.

  ‘If you tell him.’

  ‘I should think it will be obvious when my stomach begins to strain like a cow with bloat.’

  ‘But he needn’t know it is not his child. It is you and the babe we must think on presently, my dear, because you are in trouble, that cannot be gainsaid. I think it is as well the baron is marrying you this week. There is time for him to do what he must and then you can claim he is to be a father and for the next few months he will accept your changing form as a product of his manly seed.’

  ‘Cecilia, please!’

  The thought of opening my legs to De Courcey filled me with horror and not just because I now carried a child who belonged to another.

  ‘Face the facts, my girl. Surely when you allowed Gisborne to dip his wick you realized this might be an outcome? This is no time for shyness.’

  Did I? I don’t think I gave it a thought. Even more naivety, Ysabel.

  But I could never tell Cecilia. I just looked out the window again. I decided to trust myself to her hands because the one thing I knew about her was that she was indomitable, that problems existed to be solved and that the inevitable might as well be accepted as fought against. I also learned that many little wins could lead to a mighty big win. This was the legend that was Cecilia Fineux of Upton and I was to lose her … just as I had lost all who loved me. Another one…

  ‘How far along are you? That is the key.’

  ‘My courses were last at Cazenay the week before Gisborne arrived.’

  ‘Well then, give or take a week, you must be almost two months which means you shall have to claim an early birth. Mary Mother but I hope he is away when you deliver.’

  The so-called marriage, for all that it would be officiated by Brother John, took a lesser position in my mind as I pondered hour after hour about this child I was brewing. That it was Gisborne’s created a dichotomy of emotions; on the one hand a type of fury that the man who had spurned me had got a child upon me. On the other, the vague belief that if he knew of my condition, he might spirit the babe and myself away from all that was inglorious.

  But Ysabel, he has a life plan. A man who wants status and power does not desire a penniless wife who can bring nothing remarkable to his table, child or no. And besides, you have no trust in the man and do not forget it.

  But it seems I would forget a lot to escape the approach of my personal apocalypse. I would ask myself repeatedly why De Courcey was so set on marrying me the penniless bride, and that would remind me of the wedding and I would quickly turn my turmoil back to the babe again.

  But the hours of night are long and there was many a moment that I lay wondering why Guy o
f Gisborne, a man apparently on the rise, should find my situation so repugnant when De Courcey did not. And all I could deduce was the oft mentioned fact that by marrying a noblewoman connected with royalty, De Courcey was giving himself prestige he would never have had otherwise whereas Gisborne was already from an ancient and noble family and needed no woman’s antecedents to give him such gravitas. He only required wealth and that he could earn without the inevitable ties.

  De Courcey’s history was a rough one. Ulric told it to me in that week before the marriage, as we sat watching the blacksmith shoe horses.

  ‘He comes from a small estate – family of little importance. He left his home when his father and mother died of a pox and the manor and its roughshod lands reverted to the lord of the time. It was a none too fine estate on the southeastern coast, a place called Rickham. It had no pretension to anything, least of all grandeur and no monies either. De Courcey did not care for the bucolic life and chose to develop what were his real skills – bullying.’

  ‘Ulric! Hush, you shall be heard and…’

  He looked around but we were alone and the noise of the blacksmith’s anvil muffled our words.

  ‘My lady, I am surprised you have not been made aware of your soon-to-be-husband’s background. It is important you know, as it is part of the man. He hired himself out to bigger estates, gaining a reputation for fighting skills and tactical wherewithal and he was soon in Henry’s eye after he began to put a small force together. He received his titles as an inducement to stand behind Henry in any engagement and in fact helped Henry resume Cumberland, Northumbria and West Moreland. In addition, he was an exceptionally young man at that time which stood in his favour. But he is a man with an eye to the future and has played both sides with great ability. He had a small force with Barbarossa in Northern Italy and as well, Venice has had their eye upon him. Thus he is as rich as Croesus because when he fights he fights with dirty cunning and when he plays, he plays to win. But he is what he is, a common bully.’

  ‘And yet you…’