AN: time has passed (4 and a half months, to be precise-ish!) Guy is 17. Enjoy & Review!
Chapter 14
It was February and the Castle was full of people. Saint Leonard's Day was a very popular and celebrated feast day, even the Sheriff's sister had come to Leicester for the event. And that was why Guy was ordered to greet the guests as they arrived, and generally stand at the door to be walked past.
He could tolerate it. The scathing comments from the noble men he was well used to; they were just an extension of the way the Sheriff treated him. But the noble women he could not handle, especially it seemed not today.
As two women came striding along the corridor both dressed in fine robes. The first in rusty pink silk dress with a cascade of golden hair and the second in fashionable violet both stormed along towards the Great Hall Guy recognised in time that the first was Lady Augusta. The very same who he'd been lusting after since she talked to him back in November. With that realization he knew he couldn't take the pressure of having walk past him this close, and so he ducked out of sight around the nearest corner.
He felt disgusting, sensed that he smelt and could feel his leather clothes sticking to him uncomfortably. His hair was horribly greasy and he could feel it hanging limp over his forehead and framing the sides of his face. It was this which told him to hide.
Guy damned his own weakness silently, but these beautiful creatures were not only so high above him in rank; they valued the social niceties, and could spot a pretender at five hundred yards. He didn't want them to be disgusted by him, especially not her.
Women as a sex intimidated the hell out of him, and yet there was a fundamental tragedy; Guy longed to be near them, and knew he could never win one of them. He knew women were not as forthright as men and wouldn't say if he made a faux pas, whereas men did. The idea of being quietly critiqued, troubled him deeply and made him nervous.
As more guests trilled into the great hall the low buzz of chattering and giggling disguised the sound of someone walking along the corridor. Then a firm hand clenched his shoulder. Guy jolted out of blind fear.
Guy thought desperately that if it was the Sheriff he would never live it down. Discovered hiding, he thought, how humiliating. It wasn't the Sheriff luckily. Instead he looked into the sculptured face of Roger of Stoke.
Trying to regain some dignity Guy tried to sneer at the fellow. Nevertheless, Roger knew that he had caught Guy in a compromising situation and had the upper hand. Roger was two years older than Guy, at a time when a year or two made a difference.
Roger, had already made it clear in the past that he though Guy was little better than a jumped up peasant. And it was just unfortunate that Roger seemed to posses all the social graces and was universally loved in company. It was rumoured that in the Royal Court he was intimate with young King Richard himself.
Though not malicious in any way, Roger did enjoy besting the young squire, as he could palpably feel the boy's jealously whenever he approached. He also found it amusing to have caught him unawares now as Guy was usually very watchful, and so Roger jested,
"Hail, Sir Squire!"
The comment was precisely chosen. Guy was known to be very prickly over his title and was keen for recognition but almost everyone treated it as a joke. He was plainly landless, working as a squire and secondly had none of the knightly attributes that marked one out for respect.
"I say, who were you hiding from?" Stoke asked, "Not your master was it?"
"No," Guy said testily. He knew Roger only suggested it to remind him of his position.
"Shall we?" Stoke gestured for them to continue into the great hall which was now full with people buzzing in anticipation of the feast and entertainments.
"Or," Stoke hesitated to mimic deep concern, "Perhaps you haven't been invited?"
"I'll be there," Guy said grimly to avoid giving a straight answer. Obviously he was going to be there but he wasn't going to be there as Stoke would.
"By the way I like my steak well done!" Roger reminded with mock seriousness before darting in the hall, leaving Guy frozen in the corridor.
The anger rolled over Guy in waves and he began swearing repeatedly under his breath, using the foulest language whilst imaging Stoke roasting slowly over a fire. He wasn't a common servant. Why? he bitterly reflected did everyone in the castle seem to feel it was their duty to treat him like one.
He wasn't here for their entertainment, much as it felt the opposite. He tried hard not to let it get to him, but as he considered he couldn't remember a day when he was not either, ridiculed, scorned or chastised, it was hard.
Guy was understandably in a black mood when the festivities began, standing from his vantage point an inch behind the Sheriff's chair in the shadows, he surveyed the company. Then the Sheriff came into the Great hall to stand in front of his chair at the high table.
The Sheriff's sister Davina was on his arm. She was a handsome woman in her early twenties but very cold. She was wearing a crimson dress with her hair up in the fashionable cornered headdress, and carried her self with self assurance that one might think she was queen of all England. Though many young men tried to catch her eye Davina had eyes only for her brother. Guy made a note not to cross her as she looked severe.
As the pair seated themselves so everyone else followed, and the food began to be brought in. The boar, which the Sheriff had hunted himself yesterday, had pride of place on the table. Harts, pheasants and swans were all liberally dispersed amongst the tables. The skins having been sewn back on gave the effect that the all the woodland animals had also been invited to the feast.
The feast continued until late. Afterwards entertainments were held in a nearby field. All the peasants and village folk mingled with the nobility as the festivities bubbled over from country dancing to storytelling and cockfighting with every other kind of entertainment in between.
……………………….
The same evening abstracted from the merriment Guy sat on the steps outside the armoury. It was detached from the Castle but yet also set apart from the city proper. He was sharpening his sword as a break from endless polishing of the Sheriff's armour.
It wasn't as if the Sheriff ever wore it, he was happy to let others do the fighting for him, but he liked to have his suit of armour displayed in pristine condition. Thus Guy's hands were stained with vinegar, which he used for the cleaning fluid, and his face now contorted in concentration as he sharpened his blade, painting a very grim picture indeed.
The City too was decked out in bunting for Saint Leonard's Day and could be seen through the dim. But Guy had remained unmoved he hadn't even changed his clothes for the occasion – he could have done, the Sheriff would have let him – it was the custom to dress differently and no one was working today.
But he didn't feel as if he could participate; it all felt too innocent, something which he simpler folk could indulge in but which he could not.
He was a murderer and he felt it. By holding himself aloof he would not taint the innocence of the festival, he didn't want to ruin everyone else's day. Thus, Guy sat in his black working clothes alone by the armoury while everyone else enjoyed themselves.
Flashback
"Do it, Gisborne."
But he didn't need any encouragement – somehow he had taped into some inward source of white hot rage. His eyes were hard with aggression and his whole body tensed wanting for any signal to lash out.
He lunged forward at the command drawing his sword straight through the man's gullet, ripping through the other side of his body. The man's hot blood streamed on to the ground, spattering loudly. Guy pulled the man effortlessly close to him in a killer embrace, completing the deed and ending his sudden aggression.
The wounded man fell to the ground and looked up in pain. Guy then mistook the glimmer of pain in the man's eyes for pity, and he violently kicked him, repeatedly, until blood as a result gurgled up from his lungs to the chest wound absorbing into his tunic. Once again, sobered, Guy stopped abruptly. The sudden aggression gone, again.
The man's family were screaming hysterically and the other villagers' were close to full rebellion. Though Guy couldn't quite take all of it in. He had just taken a life. He was astounded, really, as soon as the he felt the satisfaction a second later it was replaced by a natural mix of shock and guilt. The villager's screams were only background noise to what was beginning in his head.
His mind was in purgatory; Why? How? When? all filled his head. Guy wished he hadn't done it, but at this moment the Sheriff slapped him on the shoulder and smiled at him in a new conspiratorial way as though he'd raised his opinion of him.
Guy mounted his horse quickly to follow the Sheriff who had already trotted away. But the mob of villagers blocked his way as if they were considering clubbing him to death, they looked up at him with pure hatred. Guy was rattled by their hatred but masked his turmoil and acted as if he was in control, then galloped away from the scene.
With horror he realized that was exactly what Vaizey would have done. He'd behaved so callously after murdering, an in all likelihood, innocent man. The guards had rounded up remaining villages and threw them into the now following wagon, likely to be heading for the dungeons and then the hangman's noose. And he was now part of the whole process, how could he complain about their treatment?
End of flashback
Vaizey thought it was something of that sort which prompted his squire from holding off from the St. Leonard's day celebrations and that it was utterly silly. Though, Vaizey thought, it did suit him. The naïve fool thinks he's the only one to have committed a heinous crime, when in fact half the people at the fair will have probably committed the same crime, and the rest different ones! That was a happy thought.
Still the Sheriff wasn't going to make him come; if Guy wanted to martyr himself by holding off that was fine by him. Also, with all the sugary female nonsense that went on at these fairs he was glad his squire wouldn't be there; as it could soften him up, and he didn't want that after he'd worked so hard to toughen him up. God! removing that Matilde had take a whole day to arrange!
…………………….
Still sat on the steps Guy would have cried, if his eyes weren't so dry that they made it impossible. Deep guilt and shame filled his conscience, but there was no one around to talk to that he might share his feelings with – not that he would have with some stranger. Perhaps he would have confided in Matilde, if she was alive, she would have listened.
In his depressed state Guy imagined going off to hang himself. Suicide was an option for someone in his state of mind, he reasoned… but he was too cowardly. Also, the way Guy imagined the discovery and reaction to his death was so minimal that it hardly seemed worth the bother.
What was the point in making a dramatic tragic death if no one cared or noticed it to mourn its tragedy? He thought resentfully. The Sheriff would be the only one to comment, to care in fact, as it would inconvenience him somewhere along the line.
What epitaph could he expect from his master? Morbidly, he thought of his grave stone – 'Guy of Gisborne - "Oh so he's finally done something useful."' He wouldn't give them the satisfaction to think that. He might be a murderer but he didn't want to be written off; he wanted to live. So Guy vowed to be strong, to try and cope and learn to live with himself.
Then from out of nowhere, the woman who yesterday had been wearing the pink silk gown came up to his side: Lady Augusta. But she'd changed her dress for night of St. Leonard's and now she was wearing a white woollen gown which made her look like a bride.
"Sorry to bother you," she said respectfully. "It's just my groom has broken his leg. Would you escort me?"
Guy sensed that it was an effort for her to explain herself to him. Indeed, her reluctance was written all over her face. She did not associate with varlets, and despite the hyperawareness and the exchanged looks they were strangers to each other, and slightly awkward.
Augusta also struck him as a girl used to getting her own way – not that he was about to refuse her. It was simply an unexpected request, though certainly not an unwelcome one.
Staring up into her face he knew she was in earnest and half smiled.
"Er, yes, of course… my Lady," Guy added with some attempt at gallantry.
She remained standing next to him as if waiting for something.
"I wish to go now," Augusta commented dryly. His lack of action despite his positive words made her retort somewhat tart.
"Oh," Guy sprang up and went to the stables to find stables mounts for them both.