Chapter 3

Ten minutes later Mathew was guiding the horse back towards the stable. As much as he did want to flee he knew better than to take the valuable horse with him and if he left it somewhere tied to a tree someone else would surely take it and he would be blamed. From birth Mathew had been taught not to bring unnecessary trouble to the village. But it looked as though trouble could not be avoided. The boy whined to himself as he noted Gisborne standing near the stable door. He did not look pleased at all.

"Get down from that horse." Gisborne took hold and pulled Mathew down from the animal.

"You have no right to take my horse guttersnipe."

"I'm sorry," Mathew yelled out. He quickly freed himself from Gisborne's grasp and stumbled towards the double doors disappearing quickly inside.

Gisborne watched him go. It was a surprise to him that the child had returned. He ran a hand over the horses neck and down its back. The animal seemed unphased by the experience. It seemed the boy treated it with care. Gisborne volted up onto its back and stirred the animal out of the courtyard.

~o~

Later that day there was yet another father, son activity. The Sheriff was to take Mathew fishing. But Robert De Rainault was starting to grow irritated at the boy's quizzical look every time he suggested any fun activity.

"Don't you want to go fishing?" He asked with a slight edge to his voice.

"Yes My Lord," Mathew answered carefully, sounding much like his father.

"Well hurry on then. We can go as far as the lake beyond the walls as there are no outlaws to worry us. It is a fine day for a picnic."

Despite the Sheriff's assertions that there are no outlaws in Sherwood Gisborne accompanied them with a small party of soldiers. There was also a small group of serving women to lay out the food and workmen to erect a tent. To Mathew this was more like a spring carnival setting than a picnic. The Sheriff even had a special all-weather cushion to sit on.

This was all too much, Mathew resented being the centre of attention. He wasn't used to it. His mother would scold and drag him back in to the hut to wrap a fur around his shoulders. Then he was off for the day to hunt for rabbits and collect apples and mushrooms. He'd come back in early evening to a warm bowl of stew. He couldn't see the point in all this sitting around.

"What do you do all day?"

The question was out before he could think better of it. Robert De Rainsult shoot him a look.

"My Lord Sheriff," Mathew added quickly.

"What do you do as a Sheriff."

Mathew fumbled over his words but luckily it worked. The Sheriff went into a long and detailed description of his work peppered with some little anecdotes depicting him as a wise man compared with every other person he encountered. Mathew listened in silence. Thankfully and mercifully he began to grow tired in the afternoon heat and finally had nothing more to say. He lay back and closed his eyes.

The serving women were busily tidying up after the picnic. Gisborne and his guards were standing a little way off by the lake. In deep conversation.

Mathew got up and went quickly to one of the serving women.

"Could I have those please," he asked, putting a hand to the plate she was carrying.

She looked at him with a smile and offered him the plate.

"Of course you can dear,"

He took the apple pieces and gave her a smile in return. Gisborne was still in conversation with the guards but his eyes followed him as the boy sauntered over towards his horse.

"There you go," he muttered as he gave the horse his apple pieces. Mathew ran a hand over its mane and tickled behind his ear. The horse had such friendly eyes.

Soon it was time to return to the castle. The Sheriff was like a child who had too much sun. He was cranky, he snapped at the servants and cursed at the slowness at which everything was packed up. He didn't have to stay for that he could have just ridden on ahead but it was as if he had to oversee everything. It was as if he felt it wouldn't get done if he wasn't there to shout about it.

Predictably he went down for a nap soon after. There were no lessons or tasks for Mathew and so he wandered about aimlessly. He found himself back at the stables. Gisborne was there in less formal attire grooming his horse.

Mathew quickly hid behind a stall. He would wait until Gisborne was finished and then he would be free too enjoy the horses himself.

"I can see you idiot, come out of there." Gisborne called out.

There was nothing for it now Mathew stood up where he was.

"Hand me that brush over there will you."

Mathew immediately took hold of the brush and went over. Gisborne took it from him and began gently brushing down the horses back.

"He's a bright horse," Mathew muttered almost to himself

"Very intelligent," Gisborne agreed.

"Will you fetch that bucket and fill it with water. He's been in the sun all afternoon."

Mathew did as he was asked. He leaned on a stall door and watched in silence as Gisborne brushed out the horses tail. The smell of hay and manure was comforting and familiar to the boy.

""Is this your new horse. Where is your old one. Did he die?"

"No he's retired. He has gotten too old. He's out in the back field."

"Which is your favourite….."

Mathew stalled in finishing the question. He didn't want to be thrown out of the stables.

"I don't keep favourites, they all work hard." Gisborne answered.

Mathew dared another question.

"Are you going to ride him?"

Gisborne shook his head. "It's too hot. He's been out already. Stand aside."

Gisborne took hold and gave Mathew a push out of the way so that he could turn the large horse.

"He needs to rest in the shade."Gisborne muttered as he guided the horse towards the furthest stall.

"You had better go indoors and wash for dinner. The Sheriff will expect you to be there when he sits at table."

Mathew nodded and turned to leave.

"I expect your father will be missing you, no doubt he will come to the castle to claim you soon. He is a good man, he will not leave you here long."

"Is your father living here?" Mathew suddenly asked.

"No, my father is dead," Gisborne said without looking at him.

"How long ago was that,"

"Not long."

"Was he a good man?"

"Yes….no. Don't ask such questions. Go inside when you're told." Gisborne snapped.

Without another word Mathew ran from the stables. He ran until he was well away from Gisborne's sudden flair of anger. He frowned to himself as he thought of the evening ahead. The Sheriff telling him endless stories, most of which painted himself in the best possible light. He longed for his fathers voice, his mother fussing over him for being late and worrying her. He looked up at the massive grey wall that reached up nearly to the sky and tears began to fill his eyes. He was desperately lonely for his little brother cuddling up to him at night and the dog and the donkey and his people. Was he ever to leave this place.

Sure enough that evening Robert De Rainault felt compelled to share his triumphs In battle with his newly acquired son. The stories were endless. Mathew wisely pretended to be interested and having such a captive audience made the stories even more ludicrise. The sheriffs favourite story was of course the murder of Robin of Loxley. Mathew hated this narrative as he had looked up to the brave young outlaw. Also the Sheriff didn't feel the need to sensor such a story when telling it to a twelve year old boy. All the details were there. Finally mercifully it was time for Mathew to go to bed. A lady servant was given charge of his care and she came to take him up. It was a good thing too as the Sherrif had rather too much wine and was just beginning to feel sorry for himself. It was a habit he seemed to have late at night and it made for very boring company.

Mathews bedroom had a warm fire. He was amazed at that. A warm fire all to himself. The massive four poster bed could sleep his whole family. He had just gotten under the covers when there was a low knock on the door.

"Hello," he called out.

He was expecting that the lady must have forgotten something and was shocked as it was Gisborne who came into the room. He had in his hand a small beautifully embellished book.

"Bewicks History of British Birds," Gisborne read aloud.

"I realise you can't read but there are plenty of pictures. I used to like this book when I was a boy,"

"Thank you my lord Gisborne," Mathew said as he took the book in his hands.

" Don't forget to extinguish the candle before you sleep." Gisborne told him as he headed towards the door.

"I won't, thank you."

The book was a much read volume. It's pages had been thumbed through numerous times. Mathew could not read the words but the book had many beautifully painted pictures of his favourite birds. It gave him some comfort so see them and he soon drifted off to sleep.