Gisborne: Book of Pawns

by Prue Batten

  ‘You are well spoken and I believe there is a history behind you that you are loathe to tell. I should ask you more about your husband, your family, but I shall not. Nobles are accompanying Prince John to this estate in a week for some hunting. I need someone to organise the domestic issues within my house as my bailiff has little idea. If you do it, I shall forget your transgressions this night.’

  My transgressions? I who ran a castle and served meals to nobles? If only you knew. Ah yes, I know of your lineage and your reputation but you shall never know mine. Not now.

  ‘To satisfy your curiosity sir, I have no home and no money because my husband was a drunkard, and am returning to family in the northwest. As to your house, I shall do it…’

  Ysabel!

  ‘… as long as you make it clear to your staff that I am working to your orders.’

  He was sour in reply.

  ‘What a way you have, Linette from who knows where. Quite the Lady High and Mighty, aren’t you?’

  Guy elevated me to a position of mild authority in a heartbeart. That he had no thought for anyone’s interests but his own was a surety – son of a Crusader, a noble whose heritage was subsumed by greedier men. This was a bitter man tied to the apron strings of the Realm. And for what?

  Elevation, estates and entitlement; all in a year.

  I knew I should not be near him; that there was too much history and I could not believe he did not recognise me. My fingers crept to the wimple and touched the scar.

  Am I so changed and disfigured?

  In days I knew I would have to find someone to remove Brother John’s embroideries and then I wondered what Gisborne might see.

  I had known him when he was on an upward path through life whereas I had done the reverse. I had not meant to find work near him, let alone for him. And yet the Fates played other games. To work for him was to risk my life. He and Halsham were close and I knew I was a marked woman and yet to get to Wales I needed his monies and a pathetic part of me craved his nearness. Or perhaps it craved revenge. I was a craven woman.

  I ordered his house the first day in my new position. I walked the interior, noting dirt and dust, tapestries and carpets to be beaten, pewter to be polished, linens to be washed and folded with fresh herbs and beds prepared. I left the kitchen management to the bailiff, the ordering of food, wines and ale. Interesting that he should ask my advice on the feasts to be served and which he did with ill grace. But I told him it was his choice, he knew his master better than I. I sensed an enemy to be made if I played the game wrong. But I had no intention of staying and hoped to make few ripples as the pennies filled the purse at my waist. I wanted that money. It was all I could offer a babe of less than a year who waited for his mother. The chance must be taken.

  The first day of my new position passed and my list was long, but already the wood was cut and stacked and the lines were full of ever more washing, fires being laid in chambers. Baskets of lavender were trimmed from the surprisingly well-stocked potager and I placed large bunches under bedding and hanging from the rafters in the one garde-robe that graced the manor. I saw nothing of Gisborne which was fortuitous as I found myself discommoded by his presence. I wasn’t scared of what he had become and what he might say, but I was afraid of what he had been in his past and what he had been in mine.

  Late in the evening I entered the stable and spoke to the mare that nickered in welcome, nosing my hand as I offered her an apple. Briefly, very briefly, I thought back to Khazia and wondered whether she was happy. But it was pointless rumination, so I looked at the caparison hanging from the rafters and moved to pull it down for my bedding.

  ‘If you take it again, I would have to charge you with theft.’

  My heart stopped and my mouth dried. I spoke without turning.

  ‘Then it would be your loss, Sir Guy.’

  I heard a chuckle.

  ‘I believe it would be, Linette. Already my household quails at your lists.’

  ‘Your manor will be the better for it. Now sir, I have a big day on the morrow. I would appreciate it if you left me alone with the mare so that I may sleep.’

  ‘Sleep you will, but not here. There is a small chamber on the first floor you may use.’

  ‘The first floor is for family…’

  ‘I have no family,’ he snapped ‘and I am lord of the manor and can give sleeping quarters to whom I want when I want. Don’t be churlish.’

  Me churlish? I turned and dropped a curtsy.

  ‘My apologies, Sir Guy.’

  I spoke to the floor.

  ‘Say it again.’

  ‘My apol…’

  ‘Not that … my name.’

  I looked up then and his dark blue eyes had frozen, fists clenched at his sides. Even the mare had laid her ears back and snorted.

  Don’t remember.

  ‘Again,’ he said, threateningly soft.

  I lifted my voice an octave. ‘Sir Guy.’

  I couldn’t bear to look at him in case a key turned in the lock of his memory. He was silent and still but then he moved close, grasping my arm and pulling me behind.

  I followed in his long strides. Four of mine to one of his. Strides that seemed impelled with anger. We met no one awake in the Hall and he pulled me up the stair, caring little if I stumbled – along the passage, past cressets where flame jumped in our wake. He thrust a door open and pushed me through it and I stood and stared, sensing his body behind me, close to my back, my arm still throbbing where he had grasped it. I knew if I leaned back even a fraction, our bodies would touch. Instead I focused on what the miniscule room contained. There was a cot, blankets, and a candle lit so the tiny space glowed. Across the cot lay a gown… a bliaut of deepest sapphire.

  Not blue. Please not blue.

  A plain shift of ordinary quality lay folded and a girdle of plain homespun embroidered with field flowers draped across the gown. I closed my eyes at the generosity, telling myself it suited him to have a housekeeper dressed to her station in his house.

  I thanked him, turning toward the intimidatory silence.

  But he had gone and with him the fear of my past.

  I barred the door.

  I was glad Gisborne was gone frequently because when he was around, it was like an intimation of a thunderstorm and the house whispers elucidated on the damage such storms could cause.

  I remembered this about him – this volatility. But could he be as thoughtless and cruel as those I had left? Did Halsham still have a hold on him? None of this sat well with me and I condemned him righteously whilst sighing for what had been between us.

  But then I reminded myself that I too was doing almost anything for money. By working in his house, was I not condoning what he did by smoothing the ruffles of what had been a rough household - a silk purse from a sow’s ear?

  The afternoon before his guests arrived, I heard shouting and horses, and lifting my head from the herb garden where I picked borage and rosemary, I noticed a cavalcade gallop past with Gisborne at the head.

  The men were armed and the hated Free Lancers’ black and red pennant streamed behind.

  I returned to the house, the basket of herbs on my hip, dirt falling on the folds of the old brown bliaut. Laying the herbs on the table, I cut the boughs of elder I had collected earlier, my purpose to arrange two large churns in the Hall. The waxy cream elder flowers would look pleasant against the bitter blue of the borage and I was hoping the rosemary and whatever herbs I could find to throw on the fire would conceal the smell of men. My mother had… ah, but there was little use dwelling on that.

  The cook clicked her tongue against her teeth behind me, sighing and then clicking again. I turned, knowing she wanted to talk.

  ‘Ellen, is there aught wrong?’

  I touched her hand. She had a heart did Ellen, more than the rest of this house.

  ‘Oh Linette. It’s Owen, my nephew…’ she sucked in a breath.

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘They ride to arres
t him.’

  The words gushed out, all a-tremble, almost as if she would cry.

  ‘Why?’

  What could be so bad that Gisborne should arrest someone?

  ‘He stole a sheep. He has five children and three are poorly. Their barley crop failed and their little savings were taken in place of their tax-share and Owen was distraught. He stole one of Sir Guy’s sheep for food and you know what that means.’

  A theft punishable by hanging. My stomach flipped over as Ellen turned a pallid face toward me.

  Gisborne … what are you become?

  Much, much later I placed the last churn on the other side of the hearth and stood back. I should have been pleased. In a short time, this dour, heartless place so redolent of its tenant, had transformed. I’d wager even Halsham would be jealous. And frankly who cared, if it brought down wrath upon this stinking manor.

  ‘You know your job.’

  The voice spoke from behind me.

  Always he comes at me from secret places.

  I needed two seconds to think and then answered back.

  ‘As you appear to know yours.’

  I turned and he was leaning against the entrance to the stairwell, blocking my exit and with his arms crossed over his chest.

  ‘Meaning…’ his voice was low and if he’d been a dog, I’d have seen his hackles rise.

  ‘A starving man and his family, Sir Guy. You should sleep well.’

  He was across the floor in two strides, an arm lifted, but I stood my ground and stared him down, forgetting my face. The arm dropped but the sound of his breathing was enough to ruffle any feathers. Finally I pushed past him.

  ‘Excuse me, my lord,’ the sarcasm dropped from my lips, ‘I go to the abbey.’

  ‘The abbey? You think to become a religieuse?’ he mocked.

  Do you remember how I said I should fail in the Church?

  I turned, wondering if I should see something familiar but the shadows of the chamber masked his face and I could see nothing.

  ‘No, my lord. I go to pray for lost souls. Yours and Owen’s.’

  As ever, I rarely thought before I spoke and left apace, but not quick enough to avoid the sound of pewter hitting a wall.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The abbey’s soaring, vaulted roof and its handsome wooden pews should have sustained me but as I knelt for ages, my hands knotted together, no vestige of relief came. Only a biting cold that soon had me shivering.

  As well that I shiver.

  It approximated the incipient fear that was beginning to stir. How dangerous it would be to work in a house that would entertain the highborn of far and wide and who would know of my husband.

  Peril, Ysabel.

  ‘My child,’ a hand grasped my shoulder and I jumped. ‘You have been on your knees longer than it takes to ask God for assistance and I can feel you are as cold as ice. My abbey is a marvel of construction but men forget that warmth is as much one of God’s blessings. Come with me.’

  I turned to look at the woman who spoke and met steady eyes and a tranquil face of some age. By the white of her veil I knew her to be the Mother Superior, Beatrice of Locksley, and one whom I should have sought out long since.

  ‘Thank you, Reverend Mother, I am chilled.’

  Later, in front of a warming fire and with bread, cheese and spiced wine in my belly, Beatrice had inveigled my distress from me. My disgust of Gisborne, my fear of incoming nobles, my desperate need for coin.

  ‘My dear, we are not able to pay what Guy has promised you, but you would be welcome to stay here and work in the gardens. The infirmarian needs help with the herbs, they have got away from her and she is so very busy here and in the village.’

  I listened to the silence, surprised at how familiar the Reverend Mother was with his name. The only sounds were the crackling flame, the occasional swish as a nun entered the chamber and then left. There was order and calm and it sustained me like nothing else had for weeks.

  But it was not part of my plan.

  ‘Reverend Mother, I thank you, but I will fulfill my obligations to Sir Guy. By then I will have enough monies to reach Wales. If I can travel with traders or pilgrims, I shall consider myself fortunate. My fear at the moment is my anger toward Gisborne. He never used …’

  My words were halted by the tolling of the Abbey bell.

  ‘Tis Matins and I must hasten.’ Beatrice of Locklsey stood. ‘I can see you are exhausted and must not return to the manor this night. There is a cot in the dorter that you may use. One of the lay sisters will direct you and you must break your fast with us in the morning. Perhaps you might attend Lauds and pray for guidance as well?’

  Whilst Mother Superior couched this last as a question, I knew in fact it was a polite order. I thanked her as she moved away and not long after, a lay sister called Matilda led me to the dorter. Although stone and severely plain, it had a glowing brazier and was warm enough and even though no one else slept in the other cots, I cared not, wrapping myself in my cloak and the blanket provided and falling into a deep oblivion.

  It was only moments later, I swear, and Matilda was shaking my shoulder. The room was dark, still and cold and her breath blew over me like a fog.

  ‘Lady, wake you. The bell for Lauds is ringing.’

  I groaned, remembering Thea, thrusting fingers through my hair and scrubbing at my scratchy eyes. As Matilda hurried me through the cloister, I spotted a fountain and quickly rinsed my face.

  Nuns passed in pairs like shades, their feet soundless, their veils brushing my arms, their heads bent in presumed contemplation. Matilda led me into a small Lady Chapel and we sat with the other lay workers, all women, whilst the nuns seated themselves behind a carved screen and began the hymnal. Under any other circumstances, I would have been transported by the purity of the women’s voices but already I felt the familiar tug: go, stay, go, stay.

  I needed to be paid, that much was obvious. After that…

  A ruckus arose at the abbey doors and the voices dwindled as booted and spurred feet could be heard approaching the Lady Chapel. The portress jumped up from behind the screen and hastened to the abbey proper, Reverend Mother following, pulling a further screen across the entrance to our chapel and sealing the nuns and lay sisters from view.

  ‘Where is she?’ I could not mistake the voice. ‘Is my housekeeper here? Answer me, goddamn it!’

  ‘Sir Guy!’ The Mother Superior’s voice lifted briefly and then lowered again. ‘How dare you raise your voice in God’s House and how dare you disturb the Sisters at Lauds. I must ask you to show respect and remove yourself.’

  I could see his face in my mind, the painful effort of self-control.

  ‘Reverend Mother, at least tell me this. Is she here or must I drag the river or send searchers into the forest?’

  Why would you do that?

  ‘She is here, sir. There is no need to be precipitate. She is safe within the Abbey confines and I expect she will return to the manor when she is ready.’

  Oh Reverend Mother, thank you.

  ‘Then tell her my guests arrive at Sext. If she wants to be paid in full, she must see their stay through to their departure on the morrow. If she does not return, she will receive nothing.’

  ‘That is not the act of a god-fearing man, Sir Guy. Has she not already ordered your house fit for princes? You owe her for that at the very least.’

  I heard a breath suck in and turned as Matilda whispered. ‘Mary, Mother of God, but she’s a brave one.’

  The Obedientary shushed us from her screen-concealed corner as Gisborne answered.

  ‘Half her pay then, Beatrice.’

  ‘You may not be able to bargain with God so easily, my son. Now please depart the abbey in the manner of the knight you purport to be.’

  Her tone slapped at his heels good and hard and I felt a smile blooming in the sunless cold of the Lady Chapel.

  ‘Go in peace, Sir Guy,’ she added.

  He said nothing and she slid
the screen open just enough to slip through. But nevertheless, his glance caught mine and in that fraction of a moment, I imagined the whole church must have stopped breathing.

  But then he turned and as I dropped my head in relief, all I could hear were the jingling of his spurs and the sound of his boots in the nave as the Sisters’ voices sang the end of Lauds.

  ‘Gisborne arrived in Locksley with papers from King Richard endowing him with the manor and domain.’

  We walked across the abbey’s carefully tended potager where the laywomen dug and weeded. The abbess led the way to the dulcet quiet of the hedged infirmary garden, where weeds had far outstripped the medicinal plants.

  ‘You see it needs some work. But Sister Catherine is frantic making her simples and caring for the villagers and cannot spare the time. We haven’t enough lay workers and I worry that ultimately our medicine supply will suffer.’

  ‘Can you not ask Gisborne for a woman from an outlying village?’

  ‘I could but I choose not to. From the outset,’ she continued, her hands folded neatly into her capacious sleeves, ‘I determined to be a friend with Gisborne but certainly not a dependent. It is better that way.’

  ‘I see.’

  Independence.

  I sighed. ‘Gisborne is about to hang someone, Reverend Mother. Did you know that?’

  She laughed. ‘I think not.’

  ‘But he arrested Owen for theft.’

  ‘Guy is not what he seems, my child.’

  I heard Brother John then… ‘We are all of us many things other than what we seem to be, Ysabel.’

  ‘He greases his own way,’ I scoffed.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Beatrice. ‘His arrival here was a good thing for the people of Locksley, my dear. I can assure you, God would view him kindly.’

  ‘You say? When he is about to hang a starving man?’

  ‘Guy of Gisborne hangs no one. Whatever his secrets are, Ysabel, I would say they prompt him to keep the balance sheets very clean in his own domain. He is a fair individual and Owen is well known as a simpleton and a recalcitrant poacher into the bargain. If he had any sense and his family were hungry, he had only to to approach the bailiff or myself and help could have been arranged. But he is, God forgive me, one of God’s idiots. No my dear, never fear, Owen will not hang. He will be punished but he will not hang.’