Chapter 5
The Earl of Huntingdon pushed aside the documents he was working on and shivered as he pulled his fur-lined mantle closer about him. Despite forsaking the draughty great hall for the relative warmth of his chamber, he still seemed unable to chase the cold from his bones.
Must be getting old, he thought wryly to himself, and sighed. This was not how he had imagined his latter years. Here was no wife to comfort him, no strong son shouldering the burdens of the estate, no laughing grandchildren to amuse with stories. He should have married again when Robert's mother had died but he hadn't the heart for it, consoling himself with the lad's fine promise for manhood. But it had all gone wrong somehow. Oh, Robert was a good lad, strong, brave, and stalwart in defending right. The differences arose over which right was to be defended as, rather than taking on the charge of the Earldom, responsibility for his inheritance and service to the Crown, Robert had chosen to lead a ragtag band of outlaws, self-styled defenders of right and justice.
At first his father had attributed it to nothing more than youthful idealism, not to mention the glamour of Sir Richard's daughter, Marion, and hadn't expected it to outlast the first frosts. But events of the last months, together with Marion's entry into Halstead Priory, had led him to realise that it was something much deeper. He had come to accept, if not to understand, his son's calling, and even to respect him for it.
A firm knock at the door recalled him to the present, followed by the entry of his steward.
"My lord, a…ah…traveller is here to see you, a pilgrim."
The Earl looked up, his grey eyes expectant, this being the cover used by his son Robert to enable him to visit discreetly.
"Show him in, Tancred, and bring food, and see we are not disturbed."
"Yes, my lord." He withdrew, a cloaked and hooded figure slipping through as he closed the door.
"Robert!" The Earl stood, throwing off his mantle and striding over to clasp his son's hand. "You're welcome."
"Thank you, Father." Robert gripped his father's hand for a moment, looking deep into the keen eyes.
"Sit down, sit down. The food will be here shortly. I suppose you're hungry as always." He smiled fondly.
"Aye, Father, though not as hungry as some now that the King has stripped the land for his wars."
The Earl looked uncomfortable. "I know, Robert, but he is the King, and as such I am bound to obey him."
"Despite the lack of justice in the realm?"
"He is God's anointed. It is not for me to question it. We're each of us born to our place."
"Do you never wish for change, Father? For freedom and rights for all?"
The Earl scowled. "You're dreaming if you think ever to see it."
They were spared further discussion by the entrance of Tancred with food and wine, and were soon ensconced by the fire, platters and goblets full.
"Thank you, Tancred," said Huntingdon. "That'll be all for now."
"Aye, my lord."
Alone again, they ate in silence for a while, Robert ravenous after his cold journey.
The Earl was first to speak, leaning back in his chair and cradling his wine cup. "So, Robert, what brings you back so soon? Looking for my help for some mercy mission no doubt?"
Recalled to himself, Robert found his appetite had disappeared, replaced by a dull knot. Pushing his plate away, he sipped at his wine to try and moisten his dry mouth but found it little help. A bitter smile twisted his lips, "Aye, Father, it could be seen as that, although not everyone might think so." Pushing his chair back abruptly, he rose and strode to the centre of the room where he turned to face his father. "This is going to sound like a very strange request, Father, but I must ask you for 1000 silver marks."
"A thousand marks!?" The Earl's face was incredulous. "That's a fortune, boy! I'll be damned if I'll waste such a sum on your poxy villagers!"
"I promise it's not for the villagers, Father, and it is very important."
"Well what the devil is it for? Come on, spit it out, lad!"
"Is it not enough that I have said it is needed? Will you not trust me, Father?"
The Earl pursed his lips in consideration for a time, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Robert, but I can't let you have such a sum without your telling me its purpose. If I deem the cause worthy, you have my word I'll provide the money."
"Very well, Father." He took a deep breath. "It is to pay Sir Guy of Gisburne's ransom."
Caught with his goblet at his lips Huntingdon spluttered, coughing on his wine as he roared with disbelieving laughter. "It's for what?!"
"To pay…"
"Yes, yes! I heard what you said. I just don't think I can believe it! I don't know which is more preposterous, that you should care about saving that man's neck, or that you should think to use my money to do it?! You surely cannot be serious? Give me one good reason why I should do it?"
Robert went over and seated himself once again opposite his father, his clear blue gaze meeting his father's grey eyes.
"Margaret of Gisburne."
The Earl's face stilled. "What do you know of Margaret of Gisburne?"
"I was with her when she died, Father. She told me what you had been to each other."
The breath caught in Huntingdon's throat as he remembered, but he kept his face frozen. "That was a long time ago, Robert, a life which might have been but was not."
"You would not save the son for the sake of his mother? For the love you once shared?"
"It is the past!" The Earl's fist crashed onto the table. "She is dead! And that son you would have me save brought her nothing but misery. There's none of her kindness and love in him. He's too much like his father."
"Edmund of Gisburne was not his father."
To Huntingdon time seemed compressed to a single heartbeat as he felt the icy spear of premonition pierce his heart. Ah, God, no! No, it could not be.
Robert's voice was very quiet. "I'm sorry, Father."
"No." The Earl shook his head slowly. "You must be mistaken, Robert. Why would she tell you such a thing?"
"I don't know, Father. She knew I was his enemy. Maybe she wished me to spare him, or maybe she wished to prevent me from committing the sin of killing…my…my...." His voice tailed off.
The Earl put his head in his hands. "Oh, Margaret, Margaret, why didn't you tell me?"
His son's hand was comforting on his shoulder. "She told no one. She said it would only cause harm."
"Harm?" Huntingdon raised his head, his eyes glittering. "And what of the harm to her? Such a secret to keep for all these years, such a dread lest Edmund discover it."
The hand on his shoulder gripped him harder, as his son whispered his worst fear. "Edmund knew the child was not his, Father, but she never revealed your name to him."
The colour fled from the Earl's face, and he closed his eyes. "What else?"
"Edmund told Guy when he was a child, revenging himself on Margaret by destroying her son's love for her, and in the hope he could learn the father's name through the boy, but she wouldn't tell him either."
Huntingdon opened his eyes, his face strained as he fought to make sense of the emotions engulfing him. Love and regret for the thought of gentle Margaret, suffering in that house of torment, anger and disgust at Edmund, guilt at his lack of action. He could have done something. He should have ignored her wish to be left alone, stood up to his father.
Robert's soft voice broke his thoughts. "Now you see why I had to come? How could I not ask you to save him, knowing that he was your son?"
The Earl's face hardened. "There's more to being a son than sharing blood. Of course I regret the past. Don't you think I would have taken the child with open arms? Raised him in love and honour? But Guy of Gisburne is Edmund's work, a man of cruelty and cold ambition. How can I invite a man like that into my home, into my heart? He is as he is. Knowing who fathered him can't change that."
"What will you do, Father?"
The Earl's face looked suddenly very old in the firelight. "I don't know, Robert. I just don't know."
* * * *
Sir Guy didn't even bother to look up on hearing the cell door open, and the guard had to speak twice before he heard him.
"My lord? You're to come down to the hall, right away if you please."
Gisburne frowned. "The hall?"
"Aye, my lord, your ransom has been paid, and you're free to go."
The blue eyes widened. "Paid? Paid by whom?"
"I don't rightly know, my lord. I was just told to bring you down."
Snatching up his cloak from the cot, Sir Guy pushed past the guard, out the door and strode along towards the stairs, a look of triumph on his face. De Rainault must have squeezed some more money from his serfs, or maybe his brother. Not that Gisburne didn't expect to be earning every penny, but that didn't matter now, not when he was being handed the dice cup again after thinking himself out the game.
The hall was crowded as usual, with William Brewer holding court at the high table.
"Well, well, Sir Guy of Gisburne. It looks as though you have some value after all, at least to someone." He leaned forward menacingly. "Although personally I'd have liked nothing better than to see your head decorating the city walls, the King does need all he can get for his wars. Still, I'm sure it won't be long before your singular talents bring you to my notice again." He laughed mockingly, quickly joined by those nearby.
Seething, Sir Guy was about to retort when a rough hand was placed on his arm. "Come away, my lord. The quicker we're gone from here the better."
Swallowing his anger, Gisburne turned and followed the man out of the hall. In the courtyard another man waited with horses, and on approaching Sir Guy recognised him as Gisla's retainer.
"Gilbert!"
"Aye, my lord."
"But…."
"No time for explanations now, my lord. Let us mount up and be gone from this den of thieves."
Time seemed to pass immeasurably slowly for Gisla as she waited with the other soldier outside the town, tormented from one side by irrational fears and the other by an unsteady anticipation. During the many months since she saw him last, the memories of their time together had become worn and ragged through many an unfolding. The report of his arrest and her winter journey had strung her nerves taut as a bowstring, ready to snap at the slightest sound, and the dark, snow-laden sky seemed full of threat. She was touching the silver pin for the hundredth time when they heard the horses at last, and the three men entered the clearing at a crisp trot. He seemed thinner and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes, but he was here, safe, God be praised.
She dismounted to meet him as he leapt from his horse, holding out her hands to greet him and draw him out of sight and earshot of the others. For a long moment she could not speak, only weep with silent relief as he held her, drawing strength from his awkward reassurance to face the journey ahead. When she could look up again, it was to meet his eyes, darker from their ordeal, having looked out from the house of madness and stood by the open door of death.
"Was it very terrible, Guy?" She shuddered at the thought of how close she had come to never seeing him again.
"I've been in worse places," He smiled down at her, thinking of the bloody siege at Argentan. "The hardest thing to bear was thinking I had lost you."
She closed her eyes briefly to master her tears then kissed him gently. "I am here, my love."
His voice was low. "You should not have come. It was dangerous." But he tightened his hold on her and added softly, "But I'm not sorry you did."
"Nor I, Guy." She smiled from her heart. "Nor I."
"So what is your plan? Will you come with me to Nottingham?"
She shook her head sadly. "I cannot. I must return before I am missed." She grinned. "I'm supposedly spending a few days in retreat at St. Morvens Priory."
Gisburne looked sceptical. "You? On spiritual retreat?"
She donned a mock serious look. "I've discovered great comfort in the Church." His disbelieving smirk made her burst out laughing, delighting in the moment of happiness. "Now, seriously, I need to return to pass the night at Halstead so that I can be back by tomorrow evening. Will you accompany us?"
He nodded assent, and drew her close again before they returned to the clearing and the waiting escort.