Yet again, Sir Guy of Gisburne had set out with the Sheriff's soldiers to catch the outlaws in Sherwood. Not just any outlaws, but the band of Robin Hood, a persistent nuisance who had so far succeeded in evading the law. On this particular day, however, the knight was in a very good mood and was firmly convinced they would succeed, for he had taken everything into consideration. As well as being well rested and well equipped, several of his men were able to track the outlaws through the forest. Thus, there was nothing that could go wrong on that day.
But then the situation changed abruptly and in no time it was all over once again. One by one, the soldiers fell victim to the outlaws' arrows. Wherever they turned, no matter where they tried to run to, there was no way they could elude the attack. Without mercy, they were cut down by the outlaws until only one man was left. And that one was the steward to the Sheriff of Nottingham.
Seeing his men dying all around him, he got enraged and - with no regard for his own life – using his sword charged the first outlaw who confronted him. Only to realize that this one was the mad Saxon called Scarlet. By now, Gisburne was well aware of the fact that the former soldier definitely knew how to handle his weapon, however, he was a knight in his own right. He had been taught to wield a sword many years ago and had done nothing but fight all his adult life, so he would not let some errant outlaw defeat him. This man deserved to be punished for his deeds and Gisburne was determined to be the arm of the law. It would serve the other one only right if he were to find his death in this place.
Totally unexpected, there spread an excruciating pain throughout Gisburne's body. From one moment to the next all his strength left him and he was no longer able to raise his sword. Right afterwards, he was no longer able to stay on his feet either and he found himself on his knees. While a freezing cold spread through his body, he stared in horror at the sword that was stuck in his belly almost up to the hilt. The pain that was ripping through him was so incredibly intense that he wanted to scream, but he had no breath left for that. Though he noticed that he had opened his mouth, no sound emerged.
Then darkness enveloped him and after that he knew nothing at all.
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Gisburne jolted up with a scream on his lips. Despite the cold that had settled in his body - since he had no other choice but to sleep on the bare floor of the cell - he was drenched in sweat. Moreover, he discovered that he was trembling all over, for the dream from which he had just escaped had seemed so real that he could not stop himself from groping his belly.
Of course, he could not find any wound there, nonetheless, he exhaled in relief before he sat up. There was no way he could go back to sleep now, as he was far too upset. On the other hand, however, he was not at all thrilled about sitting here in the dark just now, for then he would only start pondering again on why he had ended being in this predicament.
Probably he should consider himself blessed that he did not have to share his cell with anyone else, even if it lacked just about every amenity, no matter how minor. There was neither a table, nor a chair, nor a bed in it, so the knight had no choice but to sit or lie on the cold floor when he was too tired to stand or to move the few steps he was allowed given the small size of the room.
At first he had raged against the manner of his treatment; after all, he was a noble. But then he had come to understand that he could just as well have ended up with the ordinary felons in the common cell, and he had refrained from continuing to complain. There he would not even have had a bucket to shit in, and what was more, he had had to fight with the rest of the prisoners over the disgusting swill to keep from starving to death. Here, at least, he received a bowl of gruel every day, which by now seemed like a feast to him, although on his first day in this cell he had hurled it in anger against the wall. However, he had soon regretted doing that, since his guards did not bring him the next meal until two days later as a punishment.
And at least there was a little bit of light in his cell, since during the day some sunlight streamed through a tiny hole up in the wall. Of course, this also reminded him that he was stuck here. And that - in all likelihood - he would only see the sky again when he was taken to his execution. These thoughts regularly crushed any hope of escape - of whatever kind.
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The knight had been taken to the great hall of Newark Castle by the King's soldiers, who paid regard to his status as a noble, at least in the sense that he had not been shackled. Yet, that was no reason for him to feel any better - or safer.
When he reached the hall, he not only had to realize that King John himself wanted to sit in judgment over him, but also that Robert de Rainault, the Sheriff of Nottingham - if he still held this post - was present as well. More precisely, the two men had to resign themselves to standing side by side in front of their judge, something neither of them was particularly fond of. De Rainault, however, quickly regained his composure, and only someone who knew him very well could have noticed a brief expression of disgust cross his face as he regarded his steward.
Gisburne, by contrast, was not so adept at concealing his emotions, and so he kept on scowling in the direction of his former master. As the trial proceeded, his expression became even more grim, for de Rainault - who was addressed by the King as Sheriff with deliberate and unexpected courtesy - was the first to present his version of the events, and the tale he told bore - in the knight's opinion - little resemblance to the truth. More than once Gisburne could not restrain himself and raised his voice, only to be reprimanded on each occasion by the King, who finally threatened to have him gagged for the remainder of the trial. Since this would have meant that he would no longer be able to make his own statement, the knight pulled himself together and actually managed to keep his mouth shut.
At last the moment arrived at which Gisburne was allowed to give his version. He had known beforehand that he could not express himself as eloquently as the Sheriff, but the fear of going to lose his life as a consequence of the trial caused him to stammer and stutter more than ever. The King smirked insolently at his efforts, and more than once did he not hold back with insulting comments. Gisburne could feel his fear growing.
After he had presented everything he could recall - except for the matter of the false Robin Hood, about which de Rainault had also kept silent, and his true motives for joining Gulnar - it was not long before the King passed his sentence.
When he fined de Rainault, albeit rather heavily, Gisburne's fears were further heightened. Especially after he had heard that the Sheriff would have to remain in detention now until his brother could redeem him, but that he would then be allowed to return to Nottingham.
And then the monarch of England turned to the knight and his words left no doubt as to how low his opinion of Gisburne was. Moreover, they left no doubt that he regarded him as the real culprit for the whole disaster, and consequently the sentence the King then passed came as no surprise to anyone, not even to Gisburne. Nevertheless, the words of his sovereign that he was to be sent from life to death on this very day caused him to be petrified. On top of that, he got to hear that he was to perish by being strung up, as if he were a common felon.
Since the sentence was to be executed at once, the King's soldiers wasted no time shackling his hands behind his back. The rapidity with which everything was now proceeding paralyzed Gisburne once again and he therefore did not make any effort to resist.
Only when he had almost reached the bailey did he managed to regain some of his composure, but at that time he had already realized that he could not escape his fate. There would be no one coming to save him at the last minute, since there was absolutely no one who was the least bit interested in what was happening to him. All that remained was for him to walk the last path in his life with his head held high.
But as he caught sight of the gallows that had been erected in the bailey, he almost forgot this decision, for there were a number of nooses attached to it and some of them had already been used. At least one of the persons swinging there had certainly been dead for several days, but the sight of the one still wriggling was far more terrifying, as it showed him in all clarity what was about to happen to himself.
Gisburne swallowed. It was only by mustering all his strength - or what he had left of that after his time in the cell - that he was able to carry on. In fact, he would have liked to collapse on the spot and start crying, however, he did not want to give the people that were present this satisfaction. So, he reached at last the steps, which led to the wooden platform beneath the gallows, ascending them on his own. Nevertheless, at that very moment he was glad that the soldiers were holding him and he would not be in danger of tumbling down.
Having reached the top, a noose was placed around his neck and pulled tight straight away. At this point he already had the impression of not being able to breathe and panic threatened to overtake him when he considered the way in which he was about to die. Moreover, he had not even been allowed to make his last confession. When he realized that he would go straight to hell from here, he finally lost his self-control. But that made no difference any more, for at that moment one of the soldiers dealt him a powerful shove that sent him plummeting down from the platform. He dropped a short distance, but unfortunately that was not enough to break his neck and kill him on the spot. Instead, he was hanging in the noose which slowly strangled him. He became aware that he could no longer breathe and after that he even experienced losing control over his body just before all around him got completely dark.
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Gisburne was jolted out of his sleep and his hands went instantly to his neck. After ascertaining that there was no noose there he spent the next while just lying still and savoring the sensation of being able to breathe unhindered. Eventually he roused himself to sit up, knowing he would not be able to sleep anymore on that night, and the floor was far too cold for him to lie there by his own choice. It would be even better if he were to stand up, but his legs were still too wobbly after this nightmare. He was sure about that point mainly due to the fact that this was not the first time that this had happened to him since he was stuck in this cell.
And he knew that those dreams - those nightmares - were robbing him of his strength just by being so bloody realistic. The sense of shame he had felt the moment he lost control of his body and as a result pissed and shit himself would be something he could not forget anytime soon. However, he had no idea what he might do about it. If this went on, before long he would be begging to be executed, just to stop dreaming. That is if anyone would actually listen to him.
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Gisburne derived a profound satisfaction from looking at the captive who had been chained to one of the pillars. How long had he desired to have the other one in his clutches, and finally this time had come. At last he would be given the opportunity to exact revenge for all the insults he had been subjected to without ever having the chance to defend himself. No longer would he shrink from what he had to do in order to finally be free from the man.
Taking his time, he glanced around the huge room. It was hard to believe that until a few days ago, monks had feasted in this very place. Of those, however, none had survived the attack of Gulnar's Wolves. Indeed, Gisburne had also feared for his life initially, when he had tried to find protection from the Sheriff in the abbey, but had instead been taken captive by the fierce warriors. But his mind had changed in the meantime, for now he was certain he had finally gotten lucky, and he had no intention of putting this at risk all over again. This time he would hold on to his luck.
He recalled how ridiculous he had thought he was looking when the warriors forced him to take off his armor and tunic and instead forced this wolf skin and that ghoulish bone ornament on him. But that sense of embarrassment had been supplanted by something else, something that was better, in that instant when Gulnar had marked him with his clawed staff and he had thus become a part of that feral horde. All of a sudden he felt strong and invincible and he reveled in the sensation of not having to hold back anymore. To be able to vent the ferocity he had hidden within himself for once was an inconceivable blessing. It was truly something he could never have imagined previously.
There was a sudden stirring among the warriors, since Gulnar had joined them. He was approaching the giant wolf idol depicting Fenris in his strange gait - half crouching, half gliding. Arriving there, he peered around with glittering eyes until his gaze fell on Gisburne.
"Get the captive over here!" he ordered him, and the former steward to the Sheriff of Nottingham wasted no time in fetching the man he hated more than anyone else. More than even the outlaw who was also a captive within these walls. Having reached the other one, he loosened the chains, though it baffled him that the man could still remain so amazingly composed. He then dragged him to Gulnar.
The sorcerer eyed the Sheriff of Nottingham and let out his maniacal laugh. "Are you still not going to join us, de Rainault?" he wanted to know from him then.
Robert de Rainault straightened to his full height and let his contemptuous gaze wander over the assembled Wolf Warriors, the Sorcerer, and the idol of Fenris until he was facing his former subordinate.
"If you could only look at yourself, Gisburne, then even you would realize how ridiculous you appear in that wolf skin. You are a knight, man, how could you have fallen so low?" He shook his head as if he could not comprehend this, which was even probably the truth. De Rainault and his steward had seldom seen anything the same way.
"I didn't fall, I have finally figured out where I belong, de Rainault," Gisburne retorted, not suppressing his anger at the other one's words.
"Then this is where we part ways, Gisburne," the Sheriff returned, "for I will not submit myself to this insanity."
"This will cost you your life," Gulnar stated with a satisfied grin. "But Fenris will be pleased with this sacrifice."
Meanwhile, Grendel had come closer as well and he now handed a dagger to Gisburne. "Prove yourself worthy of Fenris and give him this sacrifice. By doing so, you will truly become a part of our pack, Gisburne."
The former knight accepted the dagger and then glanced at de Rainault's face, who still showed no signs of fear. Was he perhaps hoping that he would once again balk at the idea of getting rid of him? Admittedly, he had never tried to dispose of the man with his own hands so far, but that was completely beside the point now. Just the mere thought of finally being free of him, of never again having to be forced to do what the other man demanded of him, suffused him with a sense of immense satisfaction. This time, there was no way he would turn back.
Suddenly, he just knew what he had to do. And before he could change his mind - not that he wanted to - he grabbed the Sheriff's hair, yanked his head back and slit his throat. When the blood spurted from the wound, splashing all over him, he savored the sensation of ferocity rather than backing away. As he opened his hand, the body of the man he had just slain crumpled to the floor, but he cared no longer. It was much more important to him that he had never before felt so good.
Gulnar laughed. "Now you have become truly a part of us. By making this sacrifice, you have bound yourself to Fenris, and you can now benefit from his strength. Do not hold back anymore, just let all of it out."
There was a sudden craving on Gisburne's part to spill someone's blood. All at once he felt the need to pounce on a victim like a wild beast and kill it with his bare hands, sink his teeth into its flesh and drink its blood. Just then, he regretted that de Rainault was already dead. While he let his feral gaze rove over those in attendance, a red haze settled over his vision.
"Grendel," he heard Gulnar addressing the Captain of his men, "take all the warriors and move out. Carry death and mayhem to the villages in this area and let Fenris receive plenty of sacrifices."
"Gisburne," next the shaven-headed sorcerer turned to the former knight, "you are now a Wolf Warrior like all the rest present here. Leave with them, Fenris requires more sacrifices."
"This is the Time of the Wolf," Gulnar exclaimed at last, laughing like a maniac.
At first Gisburne did not understand that Gulnar had spoken to him. His name was something that now belonged to his old life, and his old life had just come to an end. In the next moment he had not only forgotten how he had lived previously, he had even lost his memory of everything that had taken place before he made the sacrifice to Fenris. At that very moment, Sir Guy of Gisburne ceased to exist.
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Once again, Gisburne was jolted out of a nightmare. For an instant, he imagined he could still taste the victim's hot blood on his tongue, until he realized that after all he had not killed de Rainault. Despite this, he could feel Fenris's ferocity within him, as if he had actually joined Gulnar's warriors, and this sensation subsided only slowly.
Breathing heavily, the knight raised himself up. Even though in this nightmare he had not died, he perceived it as one of the worst he had had since he was here in Newark. Far worse than the ones in which he had actually died, even if that seemed odd even to himself. But in that one he had this night, he had forgotten who he was and this was something he absolutely did not want to have to experience. If he stopped knowing who he was for the rest of the world, then he had lost everything. At that point he might as well just lie down and die, even if he definitely did not want to do that.
He wanted to go on being Sir Guy of Gisburne, even if he could do without being the steward at Nottingham if he could find something better instead. Moreover, he wanted to remain a walking and breathing Sir Guy of Gisburne, whatever he had to do to achieve that. No matter what. The only problem with that was that no one had offered him anything yet, nor had anyone demanded anything of him.
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Guy was in his bed, listening intently into the night, paying attention to the sounds he could make out. From somewhere outside of the house there came the repeated barking of a wild beast, probably on the prowl. However, that did not frighten him, as he knew he was safe in here, within the house. It was obvious that not every creature on the manor was aware that there was no threat, however, as he could also hear the neighing of some of the horses in the stables in reaction to the barking. But that did not worry him either, for the horses were his friends. Suddenly in the hallway just outside his room there was the squeak of a mouse. One of the cats had probably been successful in its hunt, but that, of course, was certainly no reason to be afraid.
After not having heard anything that could disturb him for a while, he tried to calm down to the point where he could fall asleep, but he was not really successful in doing so. Having not been here for a while now, he had completely forgotten what terror this house held for him. He would have preferred not to return at all, but how would he have been able to explain that to anyone? Therefore, he had no choice but to endure his stay here.
He tried to console himself with the thought that he was no longer as helpless as he used to be, but even in that he was not successful. More than anything else in the world, he wished he was not here, and yet he had to spend at least one more night in this place.
Rather suddenly, he could hear another person breathing very close to him, right here in this chamber, and he froze in fear. And then there was that nasty laugh that had always been the sign for him that his torment was about to begin, and he got cold.
"Did you honestly believe I wouldn't come visit you, Brat." This was the voice of the person who had terrorized him all his life. He had hoped so hard to have escaped him at last, but he should have known better. He should never have assumed that he would ever have been able to do this.
"You are mine," the other one told him. "For that reason, anything I want to do to you, I can do. You surely didn't believe anything had changed in that regard, Bastard?"
The other one was stoking the fireplace now, bringing the fire, which had almost burned down, back to life to a point where a splinter could be used to kindle the lamp standing on the chest next to the bed. At that moment Guy was no longer able to hide in the dark and he knew there was no escape for him.
The man approached the bed slowly. The flickering light of the lamp made him look to Guy like a large demon. Probably this was due to the fact that the boy had never seen him in any other way. Just the sight of him made it impossible for Guy to move.
"You should trust me when I say I've missed you, Brat!" The man laughed once again. In any case, even if Guy had been able to do so, he did want to answer that comment.
The other one had kept on approaching him slowly, and when he finally stood next to Guy, he put one of his huge, meaty hands on his shoulder. "You are completely tense, Boy. We really need to do something about that, and I have a good idea of what to do about it."
At this point, Guy was no longer able to suppress his trembling, for he knew exactly what was about to happen. And he also knew he could not escape this.
Abruptly the man tightened his grip and turned Guy onto his belly by flinging him around, and then he tore off his breeches. He then put his entire weight on the boy without any delay. However, that was not the reason why Guy suddenly had trouble breathing.
He had not missed the fact that the man was not wearing any pants, and now he could not ignore the realization that his alleged father was already prepared to treat his wife's bastard in exactly the same manner that he had always considered appropriate. He had also always been fond of boasting that there was no better means of punishing his consort's whoring than to turn her bastard into a whore as well. Moreover, he was forced to take care of this himself, since only if Edmund of Gisburne dealt with it on his own could he be sure that it was done properly.
When the man penetrated him, Guy smothered his cries of pain, but also his tears, in his pillow. Having had many opportunities to gain experience in this regard, he realized at that moment, that he had not forgotten anything. To his great sorrow, he could remember precisely what was about to come. And he was also forced to recognize that the whole matter had not gotten any less painful just because he was now older.
Edmund of Gisburne applied all his strength to thrust his cock as far as possible into the ass of the boy whom the rest of the world considered his son and who had lacked the providence to die at birth. Only in this way could he have escaped this fate.
After spurting his semen, the man withdrew his cock, rolled off from the boy, and quietly exited Guy's chamber. The boy remained stiff as a board, trying to ignore the pain as tears continued to stream down his cheeks. But for the umpteenth time in his young life, he wished his mother had not flung herself into someone else's arms like a whore. At the same time, he also wished he were dead.
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This time Gisburne was unable to move after he had woken up. He had curled himself up into a ball and was desperately trying not to make any noise while tears were streaming down his cheeks. It took him a while to realize that he was safe in his cell. And then it struck him that Edmund of Gisburne had been dead for years.
Still, he could not stop his trembling. In the end, he had to lie down and he curled up into a ball once more. Would he never be able to be free, would he never get rid of his so-called father? What had he done to deserve such parents? A mother who had not been able to restrain herself, a father who obviously did not care that he existed, and a man whom everyone considered to be his father and who had tormented him all his life, and even after his death.
Gisburne let his tears flow freely.
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When the patch of sunlight had moved far enough down, he dragged himself over there, for this was the only link to the outside world he had left. He placed one of his hands on the wall and watched the light pass across his fingers, and then he began to weep from sheer happiness at this small treat.
While he watched the dust motes dance in the sunlight, he noticed - yet again - how wrinkled the skin of his hand had become. He searched his face with his other hand and discovered numerous wrinkles and creases there too. Oddly enough, he always forgot this, but that was not really surprising, since he had also forgotten who he was. And even the reason why he was here. He would have liked to ask someone, but no one ever came to talk to him.
His hand brushed the beard that reached down to his belly. As he held up its end into the sunlight, he wondered when it had turned so gray. Was his hair that gray, too? He brought one of the strands, which he could wrap himself in up to his thighs, into the light as well. They did not look gray, but white. But why was there a difference between them? He did not know.
Again, he turned his gaze to the patch of sunlight that had in the meantime moved away from his hand and he had already forgotten everything he had just been contemplating. Eventually, he settled down on the bare floor. He would have been happy to fall asleep, but he had discovered that he did not need that much sleep any longer. That was a pity, for in his dreams he was still young. And in his dreams there were such things as the blue sky or green trees. He could almost believe that he himself had seen something like this once before.
Slowly he slid down the wall and then he fell asleep nevertheless. He smiled as he dreamed of a life outside this cell, not knowing that he would not be able to remember anything once he woke up.
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Gisburne was not sure how much longer he could stand it here. Not that it was in his power to leave this cell, but what about leaving this life. To be sure, he was aware that suicide was a sin that would send him straight to hell, but by now he was certain that he would end up there no matter what. So why should he go on tormenting himself in this place? But he had no answer to that question.
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The King's soldiers put shackles on Gisburne before taking him out of his cell. In their midst, they marched him out of the dungeons, and he realized that the time of his detention had taken a toll on his strength, for he could barely keep up with the men, and by the time they had ascended the stairs he was already out of breath.
The bright daylight streaming in through the windows also gave him considerable trouble after the gloom in his cell, and he was relieved when he reached the Great Hall, which was only lit by candles and torches. That was a lot more pleasant.
When he caught sight of the men who were waiting for him in there, he became aware of how he must appear to them. His trews and tunic - which he had thankfully been given before being taken to his cell - were not yet in rags, but they were filthy and torn in several places. As for himself, he was also covered with grime, and his beard and hair had grown quite a bit, making it obvious that he had been locked up for more than just a few days. The impression he conveyed was certainly no longer that of a knight, and that distressed him.
He was put in a spot in front of a dais on which some chairs were placed to the right and left of a massive throne. Two of the soldiers remained to flank him. Then Gisburne noticed another squad of soldiers approaching and he realized they were bringing in de Rainault. The latter was positioned a few steps away from him, and the knight noticed that the Sheriff - or more likely the former Sheriff - had been spending the last few weeks in a cell, just like himself. Indeed, he looked not unlike Gisburne.
They had to wait for a while before the King, too, was willing to make his way into the hall. He walked slowly to his throne and eventually the rest of the seats were also taken. Among the people the knight spotted the Earl of Chester as well as William Brewer, the latter the one who had gotten him into all this shit in the first place.
"De Rainault," the King's shrill voice rang out. "Tell me here and now as to how this entire shamble could have come about."
"Certainly, my Liege," the Sheriff commenced. "This is all related to the fact that my steward was unable to protect Your Majesty's grain from this scum." Gisburne had to keep from protesting aloud as the man spun his tale, which bore little resemblance to the truth in exactly the important passages. He only managed to be silent knowing full well that to do otherwise would only get him into more trouble. And that was the last thing he needed right now.
Finally, de Rainault had reached the end of his narrative and Gisburne had noted that he had not mentioned the fake Robin Hood with a single word. Therefore, he himself should not talk about him either. And maybe he also should not mention that he had joined Gulnar not only for the reason that he had wanted to stay alive.
At this point, the King seemed to believe the Sheriff more than the knight, who had not yet said anything at all, but the Earl of Chester whispered something to his sovereign. The latter nodded, obviously with reluctance, and then gestured to Gisburne to speak as well.
"My Liege," the knight began, "whatever I did for the protection of the grain, I did at the behest of Robert de Rainault, who refused to hand over the responsibility for it. At least not until it had been stolen." He was proud of himself for being able to remain so calm, despite the fact that this was his head that was at stake. And he succeeded further in doing so as he retold all the events from his point of view, right up to the moment when he freed the Sheriff from the clutches of Gulnar. De Rainault had been somewhat vague about this, but had not been able to avoid admitting that he had not managed to escape through his own efforts.
At this point, the knight could only wait to find out what his King would rule. Right now, he had little hope of getting out of this alive, though, as John seemed about to throw one of his infamous tantrums and Brewer was trying to push him even further in that direction. The Earl of Chester, on the other hand, had remained completely composed and kept whispering his advice to the King. But was he telling the King to sacrifice the steward or not? Gisburne could not tell, for he was not in on it. But he had reached such a point that he was ready to accept any verdict that would not take him back to his cell and to his nightmares.
The time of waiting was protracted until the monarch finally decided to issue his judgment, and he did not look pleased at all.
"It is now obvious to me who was responsible for this grain, which my soldiers had desperately needed for the campaign in Wales. I consider the loss of it to be treason, and I am in the habit of dealing harshly with traitors." He turned his piercing gaze on the two men he was sitting in judgment of.
"De Rainault, as Sheriff you are accountable for the shire you were appointed to oversee by your King. There is no one superior to you in that county, and therefore the theft of the grain is ultimately your responsibility. I cannot and I will not concern myself further with you at this time, for I am not certain that there is not more for which you must answer. For that reason, I will have you taken away from here right now and I will decide later on what is to be done with you."
As the royal soldiers dragged him away, de Rainault pleaded with his King to show mercy, but the latter had turned his head the other way and was not willing to respond.
When the hall was quiet once again, John focused on the knight.
"Gisburne, you were the Sheriff's deputy, and yet I have observed personally that de Rainault has never allowed you to make decisions on your own. I am not sure if your incompetence stems from the fact that the Sheriff has always dictated everything to you or if you are indeed as stupid as you act and as many attributes to you. You are partly to blame for the loss of the grain, but I have not forgotten that you were the first to pay homage to me after the death of my brother. Therefore, I give you a choice to make now, Gisburne. Fight for me in Normandy or lay your head on a block here in Newark."
Gisburne did not have to deliberate over what his decision would be. He was aware, of course, that he might well perish in Normandy, for the fighting there was relentless. However, his ultimate fate there rested at least in part in his own hands, and he was not a second-rate fighter. He did not consider his chances there all that poor. And it would get him out of his cell. While that would also be true if he were to choose the block, that choice would not leave him with any chance.
He sank to his knees and bowed his head to his sovereign. "It is my greatest privilege to fight for you in Normandy, Your Majesty."
