Gisborne: Book of Pawns (4 page)

‘Heaven
s, Marais, what
can
you mean?’

I turned away and looked out to the
forecourt where I could see the man
standing in the early morning s
un. Sometimes I wondered if that stillness was merely a studied attempt at ease – to conceal the fact that he may be heartsore and tired beyond belief.
He looked toward me and I hastily stepped behind a pillar as Marais continued.

‘He is a man laced with bittern
ess. You can see it in the back
of his eyes and
such bitterness can eat away at a man’s insides.’

‘Oh Marais.’ I laughed
as if
I had not a care in the world.
‘Do
you think I wish to love him? Jesu, how wrong you are.
He m
erely returns me to my father.
Besid
es, he is too taciturn for me.
I like light and life.’

But I lied. I wanted to know so much more about him.
The fact that Gisborne’s form and face wer
e striking mattered not one speck.
Or so I told myself.
He had a past of s
ome sort and I wanted to know.
D
espite being my father’s steward,
he wa
s indubitably of the nobility and that made him acceptable. I chose to forget
the mad, bad and indifferent nobles that littered the past history of the world in which we both moved.

The cobbled streets of Tours took on the semblance of a pilgr
im’s way for us both. The sun beat down and each inn and
church knew of no
one heading south immediately.
A group of pilgrims had left the day before our arrival, heading toward Marseille in order to find passage to the Holy Land where they planned to
walk in the footsteps of Paul.
A gathering of
merchants was to leave the following week for Toulouse
, but I could not leave Marais on he
r own for that length of time.
I sighed and rubbed my aching feet against each other as we sat in the shade
of vines
at an inn.

‘We ca
n’t wait a week.’ Guy grumbled. ‘
We
risk
the closing down o
f the sailing season as it is.
Once summer is over
,
the winds rise up a
nd the seas become hazardous.’ He unlaced
his
leather surcoat
and pulled it off, revealing a chemise that should ha
ve been whiter, and looking down at my own clothing
I realised we both b
ore the marks of dusty travel.

Gisborne had walked by my side as we scoured the town for a group in which to safely place Marais. He was a dark
pre
sence with a hand at my elbow and
I was aware of his effect on people as we move
d through the alleys. W
omen stopped
talking to watch him pass and men stepped out of his way.
Not feeling remotely humble, I gloried in the
attention.

‘I’m not afraid of a bit
of rough sailing,’ I replied. ‘And call me Ysabel.
This deference is ridiculous.’

‘That’s not the point,’ he said and I wondered if he meant my title or the jo
urney.
He signalled to the innkeeper. ‘A small flagon please. And two mugs.’ He turned back to me. ‘It is more to do with your safety than anything. Thank you.’
He acknowledged the maid who b
r
ought our refreshment and she simpered, her eyes a
perfect
‘come to me’
flutter.

I snorted as if her beha
viour were laughable, but as Gisborne
poured the wine I notice
d his hands and shivered.
Strong but fine, as if he could as easily handle
a
rebec
as a broadsword.
He passed me a mug and our
fingers brushed as I took it. The sensation burned
my flesh and yet as I looked at him raising the mug to his own li
ps, I doubted he felt a thing.

This
remove of his frustrated me.
On the one hand he gave the impression of being so secure within himself, so confident, and on the other it implied a barrier, as if he were warning away anyone who might try to get cl
ose.

Sometimes his manner
intimated calm and it was at those moments the fortress walls looked as if they could be breached but then he would move his head slightly or give a fraction of a glance and the h
ope of such a thing would die.
Many would cal
l him aloof, even arrogant.
But in
my kinder moments, I did not. I
saw a river that was deep, a smooth swathe of shadowed water that
on a cool day is so inviting.
In my mind I could see myself wading in and then I could hear a roar as round the corner rushed a deadly curren
t that could suck me under…

‘Lady Ysabel?’

His voice penetrated my
thoughts and I put down my mug, a flush coming to my cheeks.

‘I’m so
rry.
You were saying?’

‘What
do you wish to do with Marais. It seems she must come with us
or stay here until the merc
hant train leaves for Toulouse.
’

‘I dread leaving her alone, eve
n if she is at the nunnery …
’

‘Pardon me, Sir and Lady.’
A heavily ac
cented voice as deep as distant thunder
spoke to us from the
leafy shadows.
We turned togeth
er. Sitting behind us was a Saracen
, his turban a grey as slate colour, his robes the dour and du
sty shade of the desert nomad.
He had a
n iron
grey,
neatly
trimmed beard and his eyes
were as black as the coals from a fire.
A woman of comparable age sat with him, her hair and half her face hidden un
der the folds of a dust-coloured
hijab
. H
ennaed tattoos
stained her hands in a filigree pattern and
she smil
ed at me, her hazel eyes softening to crinkle at the corners.

‘I am Ibrahim an
d this is my wife, Haifa.
Salaam
,’ he touched his forehead and
his chest and bowed his head.
‘I am a doctor from Acre and I
am travelling back to my home.
I leave at dawn
tomorrow
and shall b
e travelling through Toulouse.
Is that close to where you wish your fri
end to go?
She is welcome to join my wife and myself.’

I looked at the Saracen woman and found nothing bu
t innate kindness in her eyes.
Her hands had not led an idle life and s
he was Marais’ age, I guessed.
She smiled and spoke, her voice like warm hon
ey.

‘
Salaam A
laykum,
Lady.
We are quite fluent
in the tongue of the English
so your friend would not be lonely
and I should welcome the company of another woman
.’

‘
Alaykum as salaam
,’ I replied.

Guy’s eyes opened a little
wider at my response to these travellers.
I had learned the Saracen tongue from the itinerants who visited
Cazenay
and felt an uncommon advantage over him as I thanked Haifa for her kind offer
, saying that Marais’ younger brother lived in Toulouse and it would be perfect
.

‘The lady we talk of is not Eng
lish and only speaks Occitàn.’
Guy responded.

Ibrahim rattled
off a comment in the
tongue of Aquitaine,
saying that Marais would be amongst friends and once again, if we wished for her to travel with
them she was welcome.

‘Thank you,’ I returned in the same language. For me
the deal was settled.

‘Have you men at arms?’
Guy had turned fully toward Ibrahim and I could see he was thinking the same thing, that Marais would be accommodated and we could continue on.

‘No. We trust in
our God to protect us.’

‘But there are godless men on the road sir, and I am sure the Lady Ysabel would never forgive me if I allowed any
thing to happen to her friend.
Would you be adverse
to men at arms escorting you?
I can provide you with men that I trust from my command.’

Ibrahim grimaced.
‘I find escorts attract as
much trouble as they deflect.
But if you think it will keep your lady frie
nd safe then I cannot object.
Perhaps we can
eat together to seal our plans?’

Thus it was that
Marais’ journey was organised.
Guy went to the nunnery and retrieved my homesick s
ervant and we all ate together as I introduced her to the suggestion she return to her home. At first she protested, my status and sex requiring her presence she said. But I worked away at her and gently convinced her that I would be safe in the care of the Moncrieff men.
Eventually she agreed, more happily than we had hoped, and she and
Haifa gossiped in Occit
à
n about their
families, their homes and many other things
and it
seemed a plan made in heaven.
Arrangements were made to meet at dawn at the town gates with our escort and we would watch Mara
is leave with her new friends.
We would take the remaining men at arms and head north.

So it would seem
I would now be alone with Guy of Gis
borne, except for Wilfred and Harold,
the remaining men, and
who had know
n me since I was a little child. When I asked Gisborne
later
why he had lef
t us with only two, he replied quite forthrightly.

‘Ibrahim, Haifa and Marais are elderly folk, not able to
defend themselves easily
in a difficult situation and no matter what Ibrahim may think about
his
God, the very fact that he and Haifa are Saracens is like to bring down the wr
ath of the ignorant upon them. Thus it seems a safe measure.
We can look after ours
elves.’

‘She’ll be dropping t
he next one afore I get back.’
Wilf answered my question as we trotted along what passed for a road between Tours and Le Mans.

‘You make it sound as if she’s a ewe popping a lamb,’ I laughed.

‘She migh
t as well be,’ piped up Harry. ‘
How many’s that now, Wilfy-boy?’

‘Enough of yer cheek.’
Wilf pushed
his own horse against Harold’s and then turned to speak to me. ‘Lady Ysabel, we had thought we’m call the babe Alice, if a girl. After the Lady Alaïs, yer see. She were always good to us.’

‘Wilf, that is so kind and I think my mother would be honoured. For myself then and for my mother’s memory, I shall hope that a ewe lamb is popped!’

The journey was light-hearted in so many ways except for the dark cloud that hovered on the edge, Gu
y remaining quiet if watchful.
Whether he approved of my repartee with the men, I knew no
t
nor cared, for Wilf
red and Harold had picked me
off the ground often enough when I was younger and out hunti
ng with my father’s entourage. Ponies suited to my size and with personalities larger than a destrier’s would buck me off frequently in those days. The men were quite a
few years older than myself and
bore the pressure of a hard life on
their faces. Not for them wines and the warmth of furs. But they bore their social rank with equanimity and were good men.

I had made no real effort to d
raw Guy into our conversation.
The men kept me occupied with their cha
tter and I minded not at all.
It was e
nough that he rode by my side. His
presence
and the men’s talk
filled the air around me, amelioratin
g the grief for Lady Alaïs that crouched in the back of my mind. In quieter moments, I recalled Gisborne’s
hand at
my elbow, a vague smile on his
lips when I did something
that amused him, and in my head I had whispered conversations with my mother, telling her these things.
There was part of me that considered myself
quite
pathetic
but I went back to the
thoughts like a parched
man to water.