Guy of Gisburne- The Omnibus

by Toby Venables

  Galfrid stared hard at his former master. There was passion in the entreaty, but he would not do it for him—not just like that. Then he looked at Mélisande, saw the pleading in her eyes and felt himself nod in agreement. Mélisande threw her arms about him, hugging him in delight. Over her shoulder, he caught sight of Gisburne’s face, half in shadow.

  “Many miles have been travelled to reach here...” sighed Gisburne with a smile of satisfaction. “Now, we’re complete.”

  Galfrid held his gaze. He did not return the smile. “I will fight to the last, just as I ever did. But do not think this undoes what has been done.”

  XIV

  Clippestone Royal Palace, Sherwood Forest

  15 March, 1194

  ALDRIC WAS THE first to arrive at Clippestone.

  It was the afternoon of the fourteenth—one day before the company was due to gather—when the guard called Gisburne to the gatehouse battlement. Through the haze of driving rain, heavy drops drumming against the horse-leather of his hood, he saw the lone figure of Aldric trudging up the gritty path, wrapped like a pilgrim and with a huge, heavy-looking bag over his back. Gisburne ordered the gates to be opened and his guest, pale and soaked to the skin, mud-caked to his knees, plodded in. He looked like he had been sleeping rough—and, thought Gisburne, was not very good at it.

  “You win, damn you,” whispered Mélisande in Gisburne’s ear. It had been she who’d suggested placing bets on who would be first to arrive. Gisburne had gone along with it; it helped to distract from the foreboding that had clouded his mind for the past few days. Those days here with Mélisande—away from the eyes of those who might judge them and temporarily free of responsibility—had been idyllic. But the very preciousness of the time had only served to trouble him further. He had fought the feeling, and pushed it as far down as it would go. But some things, he knew, would not stay buried.

  De Rosseley had been Mélisande’s choice—the clear favourite, she felt—and she had scoffed when Gisburne had nominated Aldric. But Gisburne understood Aldric’s situation. He had nowhere to go and few funds to buy a bed, and these days food was scarce even for those of moderate means. By Gisburne’s reckoning, if Aldric made it at all, it would be early, and he would not wait before knocking.

  Gisburne sat him by the fire, where he ate and drank eagerly and rapidly returned to life. Even when engrossed in his meal, however, he never let the bag leave his side, nor allowed anyone but he to touch it.

  Asif appeared later that night, also on foot. The rain had held off for an hour at most, but Asif somehow had managed to stay almost completely dry—and had also reached the main gate without the guard seeing or hearing him. Gisburne smiled to himself. It was little wonder the city fathers of Jerusalem—Christian and Muslim—had so valued his services.

  Gisburne suspected Asif had been travelling under cover of darkness for at least part of his journey; a wise precaution, in these troubled times. Although bereft of sleep and left leaner by the past ten days, he carried it better than Aldric. In extremis, thought Gisburne, the training always showed.

  The very first thing he did—almost before he was through the gate—was to press Prince John’s gold ring into Gisburne’s palm. “You’d better have this back,” he said. Whether it had served him well, or he could not wait to be rid of it, Gisburne could not be sure. But it didn’t matter now. He was here.

  The exhausted Aldric had already retired to his bed when Asif took up his place by the fire, but the Arab soon fell into animated conversation with Mélisande, who surprised him—and Gisburne—by conversing with him in his own tongue.

  All three stayed up far later than intended.

  De Rosseley arrived bright and early next morning as Aldric and Asif were eyeing each other cautiously over breakfast. He looked rested and fed, and was immaculately dressed and freshly shaved, with all his gear packed neatly on his horse. Gisburne guessed he had stayed at the nearest inn with the object of arriving as early as possible. It was typical of Ross; he had turned up on the appointed date, exactly as instructed, with the full potential of the day ahead. “Did we say first to arrive,” muttered Mélisande, “or first to arrive on the day?” But Gisburne would have none of it.

  He introduced the knight to the others, and they ate together, although De Rosseley partook only a little and, Gisburne guessed, purely out of politeness. While perfectly courteous to his fellow guests, he talked almost exclusively to his host, then afterwards sought permission to take a tour of the grounds on Talos, his chestnut stallion. Almost the only time de Rosseley was content to sit still was when he was on the back of a horse.

  “There are some areas you may not go,” explained Gisburne, “but the guards will stop you before you get there. Other than that, the place is yours.”

  De Rosseley bowed his head, a model of good manners, though the gesture clearly amused him. “My lord... My lady...” he said with a smile, then took his leave.

  The pair watched from the battlement as he put Talos through his paces out by the still, swollen lake—walking him backwards, then making him stop and kick, spurring him sideways in a full circle with the lance point maintained perfectly at its dead centre. Occasional shafts of sunlight crept through the clouds as he did so, making the stallion’s flanks shine with a coppery fire.

  “Whatever does de Rosseley do when the training stops?” asked Mélisande.

  “For him, there isn’t anything else,” said Gisburne.

  “Perhaps it should be you out there. We haven’t even sparred in a week.” She shot him a mischievous look. “A sword achieves nothing in its scabbard...”

  It was a mark of his preoccupation that this made him look to the east wing of the palace, where the roofs of the enclosed courtyard were just visible. One of those forbidden areas he had spoken of. For now, at least. Mélisande followed his gaze.

  “When will you tell them?” she said.

  “When everyone is together.”

  “Most know him of old. And all have reason to hate him.”

  “It will be a test of their resolve.”

  “Undoubtedly. But do you think this the right way to test it?”

  “It’s... necessary.” Mélisande had accepted it, after all, and she had more reason to hate him than most. But the nature of her dedication was altogether different. He stood silent for a moment, wondering what she made of his hesitation. “If it proves too much... Well, it will show we cannot stand together. Better here than out there.”

  “And what then?”

  Gisburne did not reply, but turned and glanced nervously past the north gate and along the length of the road, tree-lined and empty.

  XV

  GALFRID WAS THE last to arrive. On this, both would have laid money, but neither mentioned it. There had been no question in Gisburne’s mind that his old squire would come. Galfrid was a man who set great store by his word—something Gisburne recalled, with a pang of guilt, eleven or twelve times a day. In the event, Galfrid left it just late enough for Gisburne to start doubting—just late enough to make the point.

  It was late afternoon. The light—what little there was of it, beneath the now-thick cloud—had started to fade. In the great hall, Aldric was entertaining de Rosseley with magic tricks while Asif looked on. Most depended on an array of tiny bottles, which sat neatly sorted within a lidded box that Aldric had produced from his precious bag and unlocked with a tiny key. First, he threw a powder in vinegar and made it fizz. Then he tossed other materials into the fire and turned the flames to a rainbow of colours—much to his audience’s delight. Next he took the knight’s drink, dropped a pellet of some substance in, and set it alight with a taper so a blue flame danced above its rim. De Rosseley was laughing and clapping enthusiastically when the horn blew from the gatehouse.

  Galfrid’s palfrey plodded with weary resignation through the dun-coloured puddle permanently established beneath the arch of the north gate.

  Gisburne hurried across the muddy courtyard as the squire d
ismounted, the gates closing behind him with the heavy thud of damp wood. Galfrid acknowledged him with a curt nod. There was no smile. Not today.

  A groom hurried forward to take Galfrid’s horse. Another servant went to unload the bags, but Galfrid stopped him. “I’ll do that,” he said. The servant hesitated and looked to Gisburne, who dismissed him with a nod.

  “Good,” said Gisburne with a weak smile, his manner made all the more awkward by his attempts at nonchalance. God, he hated this. “Well, you know your way around well enough. We’re the only ones in residence, but for the servants, guard and steward, so you have your pick of lodgings. There will be food in the great hall presently. And a good fire, too. We will all gather there.”

  Galfrid nodded once more, and walked away without a word.

  XVI

  GISBURNE SPENT THE next half hour avoiding what must come. He had been glad to see them all again—even Galfrid. The fact that all had, indeed, come now seemed remarkable to him. His response to their show of dedication, however, was as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

  He arrived in the great hall to the sound of laughter. He had made sure that there was good wine, ale and sweetmeats laid out on a table for them, and already Aldric, Asif and Mélisande were being entertained by some outlandish tale of de Rosseley’s. The clear tones of Mélisande’s laugh—a sharp contrast to Asif’s deep boom—rose above the cheery clamour, ringing about the great hall. For a moment, as he approached, Gisburne found himself overwhelmed by a feeling that, he now realised, had become almost alien to him. These were the people he loved most in the world, together. Happy.

  As he looked upon them gathered there, another, tangled emotion writhed in him—something that he now understood had been there from the very start, but which he had smothered with preparations and practicalities. What was before him now, however, was not hypothetical, but flesh and blood.

  Mélisande turned and shot him a bright smile, the light of the fire making her eyes glint like glass beads. Others turned in welcome—good cheer on every face. Or almost every face; Gisburne, unable to meet their eyes, sought out Galfrid. The squire, standing apart from the others, was hunched over the fire with one foot on the hearth, stabbing at the crackling logs with a poker as if he meant them harm. He, too, glanced up at Gisburne’s approach, but there was no love in that look.

  And the feeling that rose up in him now was so overwhelming it seemed to engulf him in shadow.

  All had fallen silent. They sensed something wrong, as if a shadow had cast its chill over the entire room. He could have hidden it from others, but they knew him too well. That his weakness was so plainly visible gripped him with panic.

  He stood for a moment, his eyes flitting anxiously. So many preparations, yet still he was not prepared for this.

  “I...” he began. Mélisande regarded him with a puzzled frown. Even Galfrid looked concerned. Gisburne found he could not look either of them in the eye. “I...”

  “Well, come on man, spit it out!” said de Rosseley with forced cheer.

  Gisburne sighed heavily. His head drooped. “I meant this to be a welcome,” he said. “But I fear...” He shook his head. “This has been a mistake.”

  “Mistake?” De Rosseley laughed, thinking it a joke. Then the laugh died. Gisburne saw Mélisande shake her head in disbelief, and mouth the word No...

  “I should not have brought you here,” he said. “If any of you wish to leave...”

  “Why on earth would we wish to leave?” said Asif.

  “You said there was a job to be done,” said Aldric, his irritation barely contained. “That my services were needed.”

  “You will be paid in full.”

  “That’s not the issue!” snapped de Rosseley.

  “If honour is the issue, it is satisfied by your being here. I release you from your obligation.”

  “Was it an obligation?” said de Rosseley, looking about him. “I came of my own free will.”

  “The issue is,” said Galfrid, “there is still a job to be done.”

  Gisburne looked him in the eye. “I can find other means.”

  “Don’t...” said Mélisande, still shaking her head. “Don’t do this...”

  “There are plenty who will fight for pay.”

  “Hirelings?” said de Rosseley. “They won’t risk their lives to protect you.”

  “Perhaps that’s better.”

  “So you squander your gold on us, then go cap in hand back to the Lionheart, asking for more?” said Mélisande. The bitterness in her voice pierced him like a blade. “If ever there were a man who collected on his debts, it is he.”

  “The gold was not from him.”

  “Who then?”

  “Sir Robert Fitzwalter,” said Gisburne. He immediately regretted saying it. Had he revealed it under other circumstances, when Mélisande felt she had his confidence, its effect may have been quite different. But the discovery that Gisburne was in the pay of none other than Lady Marian’s father stunned her into silence.

  De Rosseley took a step towards him. “We’ve travelled the length of England for this. For you. Do you think we did so lightly?”

  “No. No, I do not.”

  “Gisburne...” began Asif, but Gisburne raised a hand to silence him.

  “Hear me out... Then you can do as you wish. You came because you feel duty bound to do so. Because you... trust me.” He stumbled, as if struggling to find the right words. “And I asked you because I knew you would say yes. But that certainty is precisely why I should not have.”

  “You’re talking in riddles, man...” said de Rosseley.

  “It is highly likely this venture will get you killed, Ross,” said Gisburne.

  “Do you think we don’t know that?”

  “Actually, I didn’t know that,” muttered Aldric.

  “It seemed great wisdom to gather you all together in this great enterprise—until I entered this room. Then I was struck by its immense folly. The folly of leading you, of all people, to the most deadly place I know. To a man who would see you all dead, killed for his pleasure, and for my torment.” His eyes were on Mélisande’s when he spoke these last words. Her expression changed as he did so. He believed—he hoped—she understood.

  “Certainly, this is a sword with two edges,” said Asif. “But the better for it, I would say.”

  “Well, now we know,” said de Rosseley. “You say all will be recompensed. Fine. That means if we stay, we do so only because we want to.” He turned to the others. “So, are we doing this or not?”

  “Without question,” said Asif.

  Galfrid nodded slowly. “It’s my fight as much as anyone’s.”

  “Nothing would drag me away,” said Mélisande.

  Aldric looked about him and shrugged. “Why not? I’ve nothing better to do.”

  “Well, there it is,” said de Rosseley. He thrust a cup into Gisburne’s hand and raised his own. “To death!” All drank—although Gisburne’s reluctance was clear. Their response moved him, but his fears remained.

  “I hope you do not think I said these things in order—”

  “You have no further say in the matter,” interrupted de Rosseley. Gisburne cast a glance at Mélisande, and saw her expression had mellowed. At the sight of it, even he managed a weak smile.

  “Well, can we at least find out what it is we’re supposed to be doing?” said Aldric.

  XVII

  DE ROSSELEY FROWNED. “You mean you really didn’t know?”

  Aldric shrugged. “We’re to catch someone. That’s all I heard.”

  “God’s teeth,” muttered Galfrid. “So what promise did he make, to get you here?”

  Aldric looked defensive. “Gold,” he said. “And more than that...”

  Galfrid sniggered. “More than gold. That’s a good one. Well, perhaps you should have found out what that meant and what you were being asked to do before you came.”

  Aldric’s face reddened. “What did he promise you?”

&nb
sp; “I’m not here on any promise,” said Galfrid. “It’s personal. Unfinished business.” His eye lingered on Gisburne for a moment, then turned back to the glow of the fire.

  Aldric surveyed the faces surrounding him, and for the first time seemed to realise the disadvantage he was at. “Am I the only one who...?”

  “For God’s sake, tell him, Guy,” said de Rosseley.

  Gisburne sighed heavily. There was no point pussy-footing around the issue. Not now. “I brought you here to kill Robin Hood,” he said.

  Aldric first stared, then looked incredulous, then burst out laughing. “Robin Hood?”

  “You have heard of him, then?” said Gisburne.

  “Of course, but... But he’s not real...”

  “Tell that to those he’s killed and robbed,” muttered Galfrid.

  Aldric’s laugh withered under the squire’s cool gaze. “Good God...”

  “Trust your soul to God’s safekeeping, if it pleases you,” said Galfrid. “For the rest, wear armour.”

  Aldric turned to Gisburne. “You’re serious?”

  “Gisburne is always serious,” said Mélisande. “Even when he jokes.”

  Gisburne looked intently at the young enginer. “Before this month is out, no matter who stands beside me, I will either see Hood dead or be dead myself. Those are the facts of the matter, Aldric Fitz Rolf. If they do not please you, you remain free to leave—to take the gold promised you and be thankful for an uneventful life. You’ll not be judged. I have no wish to lure anyone on a false promise.”

  “Hm!” snorted Galfrid, and spat in the fire.

  Aldric looked nervously at the silent faces about him, then swigged his drink. “I served under Tancred de Mercheval,” he said. “After that, everything is easy.”

  “We have a strategy, I suppose?” said de Rosseley.

  Gisburne stared at the ground. “I go into the forest, find Hood, kill him, take with him as many of his closest lieutenants as I can. Then burn his village to the ground.”