Gisborne: Book of Pawns (46 page)

The water pitcher and bowl stood w
here they had been
left yesterday and it was a matter
of moment to strip to my skin.
As I did so, I heard horns and horses, barking and much shouting and knew the regal party was arriving
and wished
I could curl up on the cot
and think my dilemmas through. I was almost there, so close, and b
y this night’s
end I would have earned enough pennies
and would be able to l
eave with no fuss.

No fuss?

T
he chemise
slid down my frame softly and t
he fine wool of
the
bliaut
clung to curves I’d forgotten existed. The girdle encircled the folds –
it really was exce
llent embroidery – and I took the
comb causing a small chamois bag to f
all to the floor with a clink. Picking it up and pulling
it open
, silver pennies were revealed and I realized
Gisborne had been
into the room and left my wages – a gesture no doubt urged by Beatrice together with
a belief that I would s
tay as long as required.

Dan
gerous, Gisborne
.

But I wondered if I meant his confidence was misplaced or if I was in danger
by thinking thus
.

T
houghts ran over what I had related to
the abbess as I worked at tangles in the hair until the shortened length hung smooth.
How wonderful it would be if life could be dealt with so easily I thought
, a sheet of brown hair slipping
over my eyes. I
t smacked of carefree youth
and I snorted, quickly dragging
it
away
and searching for a veil in the small c
hest on which stood the candle.
There were a few feminin
e things concealed inside, a little aged and crumpled –
a kerc
hief and a folded veil that
I set upon my head, wonderin
g how to secure it. But a
t the bottom of the chest was
a filet of twisted linen and perversely I
wished for a
beaten looking glass. S
uch things were not for housekeepers
though,
and this ro
om was merely a servant’s cupboard, the chest contents merely remnants of a previous occupant. Besides, such things as wounds might not warrant detailed investigation.

By now the first floor noise had disappeared down the stairwell and I could
here a muffled hub-bub in the H
all, bursts of laughter, a cheer as Prince John no doubt took his seat and then a murmuring quiet
as Gisborne gave his welcome. Knowing I should be
in the shadows,
discreetly
checking for knots in the fabric of my early endeavours, I thrust open my door and clipped
down the stair, noting cressets
that ne
eded to be lit and braziers
that
would need lighting later.

The H
all hum
med with the burble of guests.
Men and women from the adjoining d
emesnes and swathed in richly trimmed robes had taken their seats whilst the
royal table over
saw the mélange from a dais. I kept to the darkened walls
noting Ellen’s food was being delivered and devoured and plea
sed that she had kept her word.
I slipped into the kitchen without raising any notice and found the cook sweaty and tired as she order
ed the hirelings around.

‘Goo
d job, Ellen. Good job indeed,’ I complimented.

She looked
up from dismembering a roasted sheep carcass.

‘I trust you, Linette.
It’s all that matters.’

And the word ‘trust’ lit a trail of bonfires through my mind and illuminated a past that I never wished to countenance.

A hand touched my shoulder and I turned.
Our eyes met and I could read nothing in his, as I hoped he could read nothing in mine and yet his hand lying on my shoulder did more to stoke those bonfires than anything.

‘You look…
’ he appeared to struggle.

I modulated my voice, altering the tone, attempting to confuse.

‘Clean and serviceable as your housekeeper should, f
or which I must thank you.’

‘I was goi
ng to say lovely,’ he snapped.
‘But have it your way.’

I closed my eyes. ‘I’m sorry.
I am tired.’

‘All that praying, no doubt.’

‘
Perhaps,’ I replied, my lips twitching.

We stood in the passage, servants squeezing past with giant platters of meats an
d breads and flagons of wines.
But
for a brief second,
we were alone and his fingers
touched my cheek near the stitches and I felt as if a
misericorde
scored a well
-worn track.

‘How did you…
’
his voice cracked slightly.

‘Gisborne!’
A depised voice yelled from the hall.
‘Ge
t yourself here, Gisborne.’

Sir Guy’s midnight eyes shuttered again and his hand, s
o lately gentle
, clenched. He turned, rigid
and withdrawn.

‘Thank you,’ he threw over his shoulder.

Halsham!

Bile gorged into my belly, swirling around as I thought of vipers and the bloody body of Baron De Courcey.

Another trail of food marched to the Hall on the shoulders of the hirelings and I followed
with trepidation
, managing to secure a place in the darkest corner, a
lmost concealed by a long hanging.
From this secret place, I could watch the proceedings and assess any problem
s for the household.

Or myself.

Prince John sat sideways in his chair, a leg carelessly thrown over the ar
m, his hand dancing up and down
whi
ch I assumed was from boredom.
From such negligence, only potential trouble could come and from his flushed face and sparkling eyes, I could see he was filled with the grape and I feared for any who crossed him.
He was
indeed the
swarthy Plantagenet son, unlike his brother Richard who was
golden haired and tall. John
had none of Eleanor’s nor Henry’s looks and I suspected he could almost have been a changeli
ng if one believed in the fey. Halsham whispered in his ear and it was like watching one
sna
ke coiling around another.

‘Gisborne,’
Halsham
’s voice had t
he drawl of a man in his cups.
‘His Highness tells me Baron
De Courcey
i
s absent for personal reasons.
Did you know?’

I grabbed the
colours
to hold myself up, my knees folding as
De Courcey’s name pierced my soul.
In a vacillating distance, I heard Si
r Guy answer with cool remove.

‘I did not. What say you, S
ire?’

‘It is a
laugh,’ responded Prince John.
‘
De Courcey has woman troubles.’

He sucked on a leg bone and follo
wed it with a draught of wine, waiting until all in the Hall had turned to hear his wit and words.

‘Not long since
, Lady
De Courcey stabbed him and ran away.
The Baron ha
s searched for her ever since. Murderous bitch!
She missed
his heart by an inch they say.
If I found her,
despite her pleasing countenance
I’d beat her to
a
pulp
, have her strangled
and hang
her body from the castle ramparts.’
He slapped the table and
laughed and the inebriated Court
joined in.
‘He is a loyal subject and We have placed a price on the slattern’s head. Gold and much thereof shall be the reward. No one dares harm a favourite of the Prince’s.’

I
turned to go
, lightheaded with fear but I caught someone watching
.

Gisborne stood as if he were carved from stone
and I knew by his expression that my life was in his hands.

Chapter Sixteen

He remembers. He remembers me
.

I h
urried against the tide of servants,
through th
e kitchens and outside.
My freedom was at stake and I had fought for it
too
s
avagely.
I found the
external door of the tower which I knew gave onto the stair, opening
it to slip through, hurrying up to the little cham
ber.
In minutes I
had packed my small possessions inside Frida’s old clothes, secreting Gisborne’s wage at my waist, fli
ng
ing
a cloak over the lot.

The noise from the H
all was louder a
nd musicians had begun to play.
It suited my needs, giving me cover to escape to the sta
ble where the old mare waited. She
was equable and friendly, alert to the fact that she was at last to leave
the stables and journey forth. I
mounted
the horse astride, gown
hitched high, the cloak maintaining decorum
,
and within minutes we were at the gate of the yard, the guard c
ircling like an animal in rut.
His hands reached for the reins a
nd his voice was thick with ale
and ill manners.

‘What’s a
lass like you think you’re doin’?’

‘Let me through.
Lady Demaze has been taken
ill with
labour pains and I am to fetch the
wortwyf
.’

‘That old witch!
Better to fetch the butcher.’

‘I’m sure I will have to if you don’t let me th
rough, and on your head be it. Sir Guy
and Prince John himself will be livid if their fav
ourite damsel loses her child a
nd I shall watch
your punishment with interest. Open the gate!’

I knew Lady Demaze was with child
,
it had been mentioned,
but not anywhere n
ear as advanced as I portrayed.
But it suited me to lie
and the brute looked
crushed b
y the mention of his superiors, heaving the gate open.
I dug my heels into the mare and we cantered down the road, heading toward the Abbey.

The portress
opened the main gate for th
e mare and myself,
the
horse taken to the Abbey’s barn.
It was almost Compline and the sisters had moved to the ch
apel early for quiet meditation
so the portress lit my way along the cloisters to
the Reverend Mother’s chamber.
I could not sit and whilst I knew Beatrice would finish the devotion before she attended to my temporal needs, I paced back and forth, my hand worrying at my fo
rehead and then at stitches that prickled.

Guy’s fingers.

Oh yes, I could feel them and part of me longed to go bac
k, to tell him I had given birth to his son, to beg for help. But it was a fool’s thought and
I sank onto a coffer by the fire and stared into th
e flames, chafing with anxiety.

Compline had still not ended and so I took a pok
er and stirred the embers, placing
two
logs of apple wood on top. The room filled with warmth and
scent as I sat
nervously, fingers moving to my teeth to be chewed upon, to fiddle with the stitches, to tighten the linen filet.
I glanced around the
sparsely furnished chamber.
Coffers and seats wer
e furnished with
cushions whose
simple
embroidery created a mon
astic comfort. A small oratory
hugged a wall where a crucifix frowned
down
and a carved wooden statue of
the Virgin occupied a corner.
An oak table held a tray of wine and goblets but I forbore to pour as it would be an abuse of the Reverend Mother’s hospitality.