Title: The Devil May Care
Characters: Sheriff, Guy, Isabella, Bertha
Spoilers: Up to season 3, episode 5
Word Count: 19,411
Setting: During episode 3x05 (missing scenes)
Disclaimer: Main characters owned by the BBC and Tiger Aspect. I get nothing out of this except an unhealthy enjoyment!
The Devil May Care
Gisborne has returned, alive and well from his sojourn with Prince John, and has been freed of his pledge to the Sheriff. Vaisey visits Gisborne's camp to have a word with his former lieutenant, and is displeased with what he finds.
Chapter I
Sheriff Vaisey was not happy. Prince John's soldiers fixed their eyes on him in a decidedly non-deferential manner as he turned his white horse around, and rode through the gauntlet of guards. The memory of Guy of Gisborne's words chaffed at him. I will not have need of you ever again, Guy had said with a malicious smile. Vaisey had done his best to keep his composure while in the fortified camp. He pretended Gisborne's rejection of his authority was a lark. Always best, when lacking the upper hand, to remain calm.
A trickle of concern began to drip into his conscious the moment he was informed that Guy had returned. Now after seeing him, it was threatening to turn into a steady stream. He was annoyingly at ease with his new command, in a way that Vaisey had never before witnessed. The last time the Sheriff had seen him, Guy was debased and hollow-faced, as well as slightly shocked that Vaisey had handed him over to the Prince's guard. Now he appeared to glow with casual defiance, as if the Sheriff had no hold on him anymore. It seemed Gisborne's need to follow at someone's heels had been met by no less than Prince John. The Sheriff had not foreseen that, and his hands gripped his horse's reins more tightly than necessary. He imagined wrapping the leather straps around Guy's neck, and twisting till the treacherous fool was dead. But somehow, he managed to control his rage until he was back within the security of the men-at-arms who would escort him to the castle. The sergeant in charge of his escort greeted him with a question.
"Is all well, Sir?" The man was a loutish fellow, but he'd had to temporarily promote him to master-at-arms while Gisborne was busy basking in the Prince's praise. Instead of answering, Vaisey shouted a question of his own at the sergeant.
"Just what do you think compels people to forget their place in life?" Vaisey snapped, spurring his horse to put distance between himself and the traitor's camp.
As they rode, the sergeant swiveled his head to look at him. The man had no idea what transpired in the camp. As far as he knew, it was a philosophical question, something he obviously did not have the mental capacity to tackle. He opened his mouth like a fish hauled out of a net, but Vaisey stopped him before the sergeant injured himself trying to wrestle his thoughts into coherency.
"Nevermind," he said shortly.
They had turned onto the main road leading to Nottingham. There were a few other travelers on the path bringing goods to and from the town. Most quickly made way for the Sheriff and his entourage. But one man had veered further into the center of the road, slowing his ox-drawn hay cart to a crawl, and effectively stopping their progress, unless they chose to skirt around him. The Sheriff recognized it was probably a show of disrespect, a trend which had become increasingly prevalent now that Robin Hood had returned, and especially since rumors of his own falling out with the Prince had spread. But he was alert to the possibility it was a decoy to provide distraction for some scheme of the outlaws. Gisborne had fallen for something of the sort recently, but Vaisey was not about to. The key was to quickly destroy the decoy, and continue on as you had been. Then it did not really matter if you were right or wrong.
"Sergeant," he shouted loud enough to be heard by all, "arrest that man for loitering. If he protests, kill him. You two," he pointed at the soldiers nearest to the cart, "take the oxen. Burn the cart." He was tired of people trying to smuggle themselves in and out of his castle in wagons. It was a long shot, but there was no reason not to be thorough.
The sergeant led the frightened—and Vaisey noted, very silent—peasant away from the cart, while the two soldiers unyoked the oxen, and set about lighting up the hay stack. "You," he addressed one of the two unmounted men, "give our slothful friend your horse. He can ride in style on his way to the dungeon." Vaisey continued on with the other four soldiers, while the sergeant remounted and took the reins of the peasant's horse. Waving his hand at the now smouldering cart, Vaisey shouted to the two soldiers, "Make sure nothing tries to escape from there."
As pleasant as interacting with the locals was, it was not enough to keep his mind from seething over Gisborne's shift in loyalty. The last thing he expected was for Guy to charm the Prince into leniency. Gisborne was a noble in name and blood, but certainly not in manners or grace, and he had a hard time imagining how he navigated the treacherous royal waters without drowning. He thought the wretch would suffer at John's hand, not thrive. A very small part of him had hoped he would not be killed, but neither was he happy to see he appeared to have come out unscathed. This did not bode well for Vaisey. It meant the Prince had not taken his anger out on Guy. But it would likely still seek an outlet somewhere, and the Sheriff remained a prime target.
Gisborne had been given the command of the Prince's elite guard for the express purpose of hunting down Hood. He had probably complained that Vaisey never gave him anything fancy to use against the outlaw. But what did he expect? Frugality was a virtue, especially now that there was a royal audit of every penny spent.
The Sheriff had been on the verge of disaster since coming back from the Holy Land. He had fallen from plotting to overthrow the King, to wasting his energy amassing tribute to keep the Prince's claws off his back. But his last few entrepreneurial attempts had failed. And he had forgotten the policy which worked so well throughout his life: Kill those you trusted on a regular basis, before they could share all your dirty secrets. Gisborne's demise was past due. When he had cast him off, it was to serve two purposes, as a sacrifice to give himself more time, and to get rid of his wayward knight without having to do it himself. Because of Guy's vast incompetence, he knew he should have dispensed with him long ago, but he was actually the best of a bad lot—which his current lump of a sergeant continually reminded him.
Maybe he had been getting soft, but he found he could not have Guy killed outright. Gisborne had always been something of a pet project. He had wanted him to be like a son—someone he could abuse, but who would always respect him, because he had to. For a while, he'd had high hopes for his protégé, and Vaisey hated to think he had wasted all his invested time.
The ride back to the castle gave him a chance to reflect on how he had come to be burdened with the ungrateful bastard to begin with. It was not long after Vaisey had taken the position of the deposed Sheriff Knighton, and Guy had come to him as a landless knight in need of a lord. Unseasoned, ambitious knights were commonplace, and the Sheriff was not one to take in strays. But there had been something dark in the young man, which had engaged Vaisey's interest.
Guy's story was a pleasingly tragic one. His father wasted much of his life on the old King's crusades, and was thanked for it with banishment. The lands the family were rewarded had been returned to the original holder, which happened to be Malcolm of Locksley, father of the brigand Hood. That bit amused Vaisey. Ultimately, Guy's parents were killed in a fire many years ago. By the time Gisborne had arrived at Nottingham, he had already learned not to expect life to give you what you deserved. He was focused, heartless, and disillusioned, yet still so naive. Vaisey thought he might prove to be perfect for his needs. He'd had to dispose of his last sergeant, and he figured it would not hurt to give him a chance at the position. At least it would not hurt Vaisey. It might prove fatal to Guy.
Old Sheriff Knighton was ousted due to a lack of obedience to the Prince, motivated by an overabundance of loyalty to the Coeur de Leon. Vaisey had no such shortcomings. He had great plans for Nottinghamshire, but it would have need of armed support. Chivalry did not count for much in the new Sheriff's domain, and he was looking for knights to whom the codes could be loosely interpreted. He needed a leader who had a strong will, but not an unbreakable one. Guy appeared to be quite breakable, but only if you knew how to go about it.
Vaisey was a shrewd judge of human weakness, and he summed up Gisborne's in little time; pride, recklessness, and a need for acceptance in a world that had rejected his claims. He would be easy to manipulate. As with all soldiers, it would be a matter of using discipline. But in this case, the trick was showing trust at the right times to win his devotion. Slightly complicated, but Vaisey was cunning. He would break him to his needs, and then be safe in the knowledge that no one else would be able to turn him.
So the Sheriff had reached out to him, rather like a flame toward a moth. In hindsight, the moth had proven to be more resilient than he expected, being only partially consumed by the Sheriff's evil fire. But back then, that had not been a concern. The younger Guy was only too eager to follow in his footsteps, even if the path proved treacherous.
He could still remember fondly the first time he ordered Gisborne to kill someone. The man with which Vaisey had a mind to test Guy's willingness to follow orders was a petty thief. The normal sentence for his crime would not have been much more harsh than losing a finger, but he did not inform Gisborne of the nature of the infraction. For all Guy knew, the man could be innocent. Vaisey made sure the location was private, as he did not want public pressure impacting Gisborne's actions. It was one thing to kill people when fighting for glory and all that rubbish, but he found that some people, especially nobles, became all touchy about killing the unarmed.
Even now, he remembered the small details of that perfect day. There were only the three of them in his private chamber. Vaisey had put his arm around the thief's shoulders, as if he were introducing an old friend to a new acquaintance, and said lightly, "Gisborne, if you would be so kind, and kill this man." He felt the muscles in the man's thin body tense. Releasing him, he stepped a few paces away from the condemned fellow. The thief had turned panicked eyes to Vaisey and, unsurprisingly, began pleading for his life.
Vaisey had smiled. He looked at Guy, who was watching attentively, and advised the thief, "I'm not the person you need to talk to now. It's up to Gisborne here. Perhaps you can appeal to his sense of empathy," he said, shrugging. The man looked to Guy, and must have seen death reflected in his cold eyes, because he fell to his knees, doing his utmost to look pathetic. Vaisey watched closely for any signs of a burdened conscience, but Guy had asked only, "Here, my lord?" Vaisey answered, "Mm, hmm."
Drawing his sword, Guy put a hand on the horrified man's shoulder, then angled the blade toward the thief's chest. With a downward thrust, he skewered his victim like a fish. It was a genuinely beautiful moment, marred only slightly by the victim's gargling cry. As killing went, it lacked creativity, but there was something to be said for the traditional boldness of it all. Guy pulled the sword free, and a trail of blood dripped across the stone floor. The sword point had probably pierced a lung, because the man collapsed, coughed more blood all over Vaisey's floor, and died rather quickly. Perhaps his private room had not been the best place for it, but he was pleased that there had been no hesitation in Gisborne. Neither had he seen any particular lust for blood. In fact, Guy's face maintained a look of distaste during the whole thing. That disappointed Vaisey a bit, but he reckoned it was probably for the best. He needed a servant, not a kindred spirit. He had smiled brilliantly at Guy, who's grim countenance turned to a slight smile when he saw how much it had pleased him.
Vaisey had clapped his hands together saying, "Thank you. That saves me the inconvenience of proving his guilt. Now, let us get to supper. They tell me we have an excellent roast this night, and I want to make sure they do not overcook it." He had looked at the blood pooling on the floor, and poked the body with his boot. "I like my meat to have some juice left in it." Guy's look had turned serious again. Fortunately, a sense of humor was not a requirement for the position.
Soon afterward, he had given Guy the Locksley lands to oversee while the Earl was away on the Crusades. He could have petitioned the Prince to have the lands turned back over to Gisborne for good, but it suited the Sheriff to give Guy just enough to keep him occupied, but never so much as to make him completely satisfied.
And overall—with but a few glaring exceptions—it had worked out well. Guy had remained true, despite Marian's claws, and Robin's threats. Right up until he had sent him off to Prince John as a substitute for his own life. He had to admit, it was tough to beat the Prince for a patron, but Vaisey knew it would not last. Guy would fail to get what John wanted, and then he would find out what happened to people who personally displeased the monarch.
Vaisey thought he knew where he had gone wrong with Guy. The saying familiarity sires contempt was apt in this case. He should have kept him at arms-length from the beginning, but the Sheriff had a weakness for sharing all of his little joys with Guy. Or, to put it more accurately, he enjoyed tormenting him with his pleasures. It was somewhat like keeping a monkey on a chain. Highly amusing, although you knew it was destined to try and take your face off someday.
But he had to admit, since Guy had been gone, Vaisey had yet to find anyone to substitute. They all cowered too much, like he was going to eat them, which was an interesting idea, now that he thought of it. He would have to remember that next time he had a particularly difficult prisoner to interrogate. But the matters at hand left him no time for recreation. He needed to raise funds now, or he might wind up being dragged before the royal throne himself. And he did not think whatever luck of fools managed to save Guy would apply to him.
The Sheriff and his men had finally arrived at the castle gate. Waiting for the gate to be opened allowed him to survey the wretched poor lolling about on either side of the bridge. Why were there always so many beggars wearing hoods at the entrance? The guards would miss an entire army of outlaws sneaking in if they did not think to look under a hood. And sadly, the last thing these idiots did was think. If he made the wearing of hoods an offense punishable by death, it would make it easier to weed out Robin and his men. He could announce it in a proclamation, but it would be more fun to start hauling in the hoodies randomly. He might even get some monks in his net. There was nothing better than the hanging of the holy to cheer him up after a bad morning.