Chapter 3: "I need you to speak!"
An oppressive tension hung in the atmosphere in Nottingham Castle; Sir Guy of Gisborne was intensely aware of it as he entered the great hall. He felt it like some physical presence. Guy's complete consternation over being excluded from the discussions with Hugh de Burgh hit him like a fist to the gut as he watched Vasey commiserating with the Prince John's envoy.
It did not escape his attention their conversation ceased when he approached the two officials. They eyed him suspiciously as he took his seat. Dismissing the stifling air to his distracting depression over Vasey's exclusion, Gisborne was not as alert as he should have been, He did not perceive the Sheriff's short nod directed to the serving woman nor the mixing of a brownish liquid with the wine in his goblet.
"So this plan of yours, Anceline…" de Burgh said mockingly.
"Do not call me that!" Vasey was livid! Gisborne looked away to conceal his smirking grin.
"But it is your name." The envoy laughed loudly, he knew Vasey hated it. " Nottingham's 'Little God' – he trusts no one and no one trusts him."
The Sheriff drummed his fingers on the table impatiently, "Are you quite finished?"
de Burgh nodded. "So this plan of yours depends upon Gisborne here?"
"Somehow I think he may be up to it this time! Drink Guy," the Sheriff scoffed.
The man's manner was condescending, his grin too broad; something was afoot and Guy was now instantly wary. Had the Sheriff learned of his latest activities? Had the captain of the guard dared to mention his secretly hiring out men-at-arms? Had that cursed merchant told him of the sudden new "tax" on merchandise?
"My lord…" Gisborne started.
Sensing the man's hesitation, the Sheriff eased his tone. "Guy? Never have I known you to refuse a drink."
"Good God, man," Hugh de Burgh growled impatiently. "Why so suspicious? If it was poison do you think the Prince would be involved? Tsk...tsk…" He clucked shaking a finger, "…it would not be proper for a man in my position to be party to such a deed." It was a clumsy attempt at reassurance.
Vasey shot his co-conspirator an icy stare, then immediately transformed his expression and turned to his victim. "Come along Gisborne, have a drink with us. It is from my personal stock of French claret."
The Sheriff's attempt was equally inept, but Guy was clueless, too bewildered to refuse; he drained the cup. The concoction stung his throat and almost immediately his eyes began to water.
"Now Vasey," de Burgh asked settling in his chair, "what exactly is the effect supposed to be?"
Vasey's grin was totally unguarded now. "Feeling a little…feverish, Guy?" He taunted, licking his lips like a fox entering the hen house.
Sweat rolled in great beads down the knight's face. His entire body felt as though it were aflame. "You HAVE poisoned me!"
"Nonsense. You've many more inane and incompetent years left," Vasey laughed sadistically.