This is the second half of the middle section. Like I say, I need to finish two short sequences before posting the final part but am almost done.
- Half an hour, Your Grace. All I need is half an hour.
They had left behind London's muddy and crowded streets and were riding toward Windsor in the Chief Justiciar's roofed carriage. Marian marvelled at the ornate interior, the polished wood, soft tooled leather cushions and the silk brocade curtains, noting that the comfortable coach was perhaps the greatest luxury the pragmatic Hubert Walter had allowed himself.
She had just asked him to give her time alone with John before he spoke to the prince.
- What is it that you intend to do in that time? – Walter's voice was stern. Not surprising, since Marian had told him the story of her recent exploits. Her first visit to Windsor had been marked by an attempted break-in, a murder and a month in the dungeon; her second, by successful theft. No wonder the Chief Justiciar was reluctant to grant her request of time alone with the prince. It was amazing enough that he had agreed to smuggle her in at all and had not forbidden her to wear her outrageous disguise of a nun's habit.
- I swear I shall do nothing to endanger His Highness's life, - she said as gravely as she could. – Or mine, - she added, seeing her companion's concern unabated. – But I need to speak to him about... a personal matter... and I suspect that he may be more willing to do so if we are... unobserved.
- What personal matter?
- I need to find Lord Gisborne, Your Grace. If anyone knows where he is, it is Prince John. And… I need to ask the prince what happened that made him resign, which His Highness may be... reluctant to disclose in your presence.
The justiciar sighed. Despite Marian's assurances and his own inkling that she was unlikely to get in league with the seditious prince, or commit any more criminal acts at that point, he was still wary about letting this Greek firebomb of a woman loose in Windsor Castle. But he owed the proof of John's dealings, the instrument of punishment that would make it possible to render the prince more docile, to that same woman, and he had been powerless to help her in the quest that had brought her, and the precious letter, to his own door. He turned a thoughtful gaze upon Marian.
- Once we are at Windsor, I shall consider your request depending on what we find there. Naturally, if I let you have the time you ask for, I shall hold you to your oath of good conduct. And in doing so I will trust you that the subject of your discourse shall be limited to Lord Gisborne's whereabouts and his resignation.
Marian nodded gravely, trying to hide her anxiety. It was an audacious request, but her venture depended on it.
- Yes, Your Grace. – She chose not to be too specific in answering the Chief Justiciar's admonition. After all, the subject of Guy's resignation was a broad one.
Unknown to her high-ranking ally, Marian's habit concealed a pouch holding copies of John's two letters that she had painstakingly made before coming to London. She had not aimed for perfect forgeries; rather, her aim had been to precisely copy the text to convince Prince John that she was, or had been, in possession of the originals. Likewise unknown to her companion, she had spent the hour's delay in departing from London that he had granted her in preparations he might have found highly undesirable. After hurriedly packing her belongings at the inn into a small chest bought from the innkeeper and changing from her fine silk dress into the grey habit, she called for Allan and gave him a leather pouch to take to the nearest pawn shop.
Allan looked at her intently, feeling the contents through the leather.
- What is it, Maz? – he asked suspiciously.
- It does not matter, Allan. It is... an item of value that will pay for your journey.
They had spent most of the silver she had brought on inns and food, and had just sold the two silver dishes for a handful of coins, but it would not suffice to send Allan on his errand, even without considering the cost of the return trip.
Marian frowned as Allan pulled at the cord and shook the emerald-encrusted ring out into his hand.
- Allan!
- Marian... no. – He sounded shocked, but his voice carried no disapproval.
- Allan, it is just a ring.
Allan nodded, and Marian wondered at the meaning of her own words. Just a ring.
Within half an hour, Allan was on his way to Portsmouth, carrying the original Philippe Auguste letter to France, and Marian, with a horse in tow, her chest mounted awkwardly on its back, presented herself at Westminster Palace again. Her instructions to Allan had been to find Archer, who had accompanied Robin and the king, and persuade him – if necessary, bribe him – into arranging for the secret safekeeping of the letter. Knowing Archer's resourcefulness from their brief acquaintance, Marian had high hopes for a successful outcome of this venture, and knowing his pragmatic, if not mercenary, tendencies, she knew that the further rich reward she had told Allan to promise him in her name would be a good incentive, as well as a good deterrent to keep Archer from handing the letter to King Richard prematurely, something that Robin would be certain to do but Marian, given the circumstances, was keen to avoid.
A question from the Chief Justiciar brought her back to the present. They had arrived outside the castle gate, its grey curtain walls and the round keep tinged yellow in the waning afternoon light.
- Why would Gisborne want to resign anyway? – Walter mused aloud, Marian's words having apparently stuck in his mind. – I remember the man now; I saw him once and I remember a couple of reports he sent with the taxes. Competent, if not all that brilliant, and seemed quite pleased to be Sheriff.
Marian hesitated. She was not sure if Walter would think her theory insane, or if it would make him more sympathetic.
- I suspect that he may have been... pressed to resign by His Highness, Your Grace. And I also suspect that... – oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound – it may have had something to do with getting me out of the dungeon.
- If so, shame on John, and a pity for Gisborne. Coming to think of it, His Highness was quite keen on de Ferrers' appointment to Nottingham… this de Ferrers fellow is quite capable though, and well connected, - Walter sighed, - so it would be too much of a bother to replace him. But if you ask me, the sheriffs have had too much power vested in them. In my view they should concern themselves with taxes, and judicial matters should be referred to the guardians of the peace. I have just drawn up an ordinance to this effect, and am convinced that this is the best arrangement.
- I agree with you, Your Grace, - Marian suppressed a sigh of disappointment at hearing Walter's verdict on Guy's departure. Maybe if I get to talk to John and push him hard enough... But she could not let herself be branded a soppy maiden, and continued as if the remark had not affected her. - It is too risky to concentrate the power to dispose of people's lives in the hands of one man, - she almost shuddered as she remembered Vasey. - It can be a great benefit when the Sheriff is a wise one – like my father – but a great danger otherwise. Besides, - she concluded, - if the tax collection and the councils are to be run properly, it leaves little time for judicial hearings.
- How come you are so well informed about these matters? The Chief Justiciar eyed her with fresh curiosity.
- My father was a sheriff, Your Grace.
- Which shire?
- The same, Your Grace. Nottingham.
- He was not the one that Gisborne... – he hesitated at the word killed.
- No, Your Grace. That was Vasey, an evil man if there ever was one. Gisborne... did the right thing about him. No, my father was Vasey's predecessor, and rumour has it that Prince John received sacks of money from Vasey and cornered Longchamp into approving him as my father's replacement.
- How could your father possibly let you come to London alone? – Walter asked suddenly, assuming from Marian's remark about her father's retirement that he was still alive.
- He was killed two years ago, Your Grace. Vasey had him imprisoned, and he was killed when he tried to escape.
Walter made the sign of the cross and fell silent for a moment.
- So by confronting His Highness you are avenging your father's death and standing up for Gisborne in one fell swoop? – he asked eventually.
Marian ventured a timid smile. She had not quite seen it that way but there was a measure of poetic justice to it.
- You could say so, Your Grace.
By then they had passed the gate, and having disembarked in the main courtyard, the castle guards too much in awe of the distinguished visitor to look closely at his humble companion, had walked up the spiral stairs and stopped just outside John's study, the Chief Justiciar having sent a guard to alert the prince.
Well then, - Walter shrugged as he gestured for Marian to go inside, - so long as the prince stays alive, you can have your half hour.
*
Prince John was in a jolly good mood. He had just come back from an entertaining hunt – the quarry consisted only of a pair of stags, but he had enjoyed the company of the lovely Agnes de Ferrers who had ridden along with him and besides, had been greatly amused by the spectacle of the rather haughty Lady de Freyne, who had previously resisted his advances, tumbling from her horse. Now, just back from the hunting lodge and the merriment and toasts that had celebrated the conclusion of the outing, he had the evening banquet to look forward to, and he sauntered into his chambers at a brisk pace, calling for a change of clothes – only to be informed by his seneschal in a sombre voice that the Chief Justiciar was waiting for him in his study.
John grimaced; the man had been the bane of his existence before his brother's return, almost single-handedly responsible for the failure of John's great designs on the crown. Yet the prince had been unable to summon the resolve to plot the man's assassination. Perhaps it was his early childhood memory of the backlash against his father for the killing of an archbishop that he had not even ordered that John, in his desire to be loved by his subjects, was eager to avoid – Becket's martyrdom had provoked an outrage and forever tainted his father's image. Or it could have been Hubert Walter's preternatural ability to always stay a step ahead of the game that gave him pause; John feared that any such attempt would be discovered and foiled at a great cost to himself. Perhaps it was even grudging respect for the man's abilities as a statesman and the thought that someday, John might need someone like him to help him govern the country. Whatever it was, John did not meddle in Hubert Walter's affairs and did his best to stay out of his line of sight. Now that his political plans that had seemed so close to fruition had been put on hold by an unfortunate turn of events, the prince was especially anxious not to anger a powerful adversary.
For the demise of Raoul Taisson had shaken John's confidence too much for him to continue his bold games right away. The ensuing halt in John's correspondence with the French king had apparently diverted Philippe Auguste's attention away from John's plots back to the Normandy campaign, the cunning Philippe probably thinking it likely that Richard could be defeated in battle, thus obliterating the need of an alliance with John. While John had been eager to reassure his would-be royal ally, he had been too frightened by Taisson's death and the issue of the missing letters to do so. The story the Lady of Knighton had told him about Taisson destroying the letters seemed solid enough; but he would never know for certain, as all that was discovered in the fireplace of Taisson's room was a heap of burnt vellum scraps and a pool of molten wax that gave him no certainty as to which documents those had been. The other story his prisoner had told him about her motives had also seemed plausible, but John could not forget that she was also betrothed to one of Richard's minions and apparently acquainted with the king himself. In his despair born of rampant fear and thwarted ambition, John was torn between wanting to have the woman executed one day as a dangerous witness and fearing the consequences the next day as he imagined his brother inquiring after her fate. In the end, he kept her in the dungeon and fretted and waited – until Gisborne showed up and offered him if not peace of mind, then at least a way to make a modicum of profit out of his predicament. By demanding Gisborne's resignation from Nottinghamshire, he opened it for a nobleman he had recently but enthusiastically befriended – who rather inconveniently happened to be married to his current mistress, herself a distinguished Occitan lady of noble blood. By procuring this coveted appointment for William he was simultaneously doing him a great favour and making sure that he was safely away in Nottingham, while the delectable Agnes, under the pretext of packing her household for the cumbersome move, stayed on in Windsor, free to keep the prince company. But even though John was quite pleased with himself for having thought of this clever arrangement, his greater ambitions had suffered a serious setback.
John dragged his feet to his study, his carefree mood of the afternoon all but gone. Whatever had brought Hubert Walter to Windsor, it had to be bad news for him. Still, John put on a broad smile and spread his arms theatrically as he entered the chamber.
- Bless me, Father, for I have sinned! – he announced, knowing that he was inviting criticism for his mockery of a sacred rite, but unable to resist the temptation of a good quip.
But the words that answered him were not the rebuke he had expected. And the voice that had uttered them was nothing like Hubert Walter's dry baritone.
- You have, Your Highness. You have indeed.
*
He wondered if he had somehow fallen asleep and was seeing a nightmare, for instead of the Chief Justiciar, the figure in front of him was wearing a nun's habit but had the face that had haunted him for weeks.
The Lady of Knighton.
- You? – he stammered. – Lady... Margaret?
- Marian, - she corrected coolly, and John shivered, though he was confused as to why he should worry about mixing up her given name. The woman had been paid for and set free and should be out of his life forever, hopefully duly chastised and frightened. What was she doing in his study, then, wearing a habit and eyeing him with smug curiosity? He was tempted to call the guards, but something in her calm expression was downright unnerving, making him hesitate.
- Have you taken holy orders? – he questioned her, encouraged by a sudden guess.
- Only for tonight, Your Highness. But before you do anything rash in the belief that I am here unlawfully, - she continued in the same cool, measured tone, seeing as his head jerked back looking for the guards, - there are two or three things you may want to know. First, Hubert Walter is indeed here. He is waiting in the chamber next door and will join us soon. How soon depends on how much danger you are craving. Second, he has the original of this, - she handed the prince a piece of vellum.
A quick scan showed it to be a faithful copy of John's letter to Hugh of Lusignan. The prince tried in vain to suppress the surging panic when he realised that she had not finished.
– Third, - the woman went relentlessly on, - if anything happens to me now or later, the Chief Justiciar will have this, and your brother will very soon have its original that is well on its way to France as we speak. – she rolled open another scroll, holding it just out of John's reach, but he did not need to read it to know what it was. – However, we have half an hour to discuss these matters, - she concluded with a smile that sent a chill down John's back, - before the Chief Justiciar joins us, and it may be that in the meantime we shall come to a different arrangement.
For a few moments, John's handsome face was a hideous grimace of fear and impotent fury. When he at last composed himself, he gritted his next question through his teeth.
- What is it you want?
- I want... answers to a few questions, - she chose her words carefully, - and I may have a few... requests afterwards.
- You want to blackmail me, - John spat.
- No more than you blackmailed Guy of Gisborne when he came to you and you made him resign from his post, - Marian countered.
-I did not blackmail him! - John's voice was seething with petulant bitterness. – He freely agreed to give it up. It was your ransom!
*
Marian had figured this out already, but she was still shaken at hearing the blunt admission. All the evidence had been pointing to it, but it was simply too incredible to assume that Guy would have voluntarily given up something that he had cherished for years to save a woman he had no more designs on, so much so that he did not even care to make it known to her that he had rescued her. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, and it was only her anger toward John that kept her from crumbling down then and there.
- The post of the Sheriff of Nottingham was the price that Gisborne paid for freeing me? – she repeated in a steady voice. It was more of a ploy for time than a question, but the answer still surprised her.
- That, and four thousand marks, - John muttered, his fear apparently running so strong as to have robbed him of reason. Or else he would have figured out, thought Marian with grim satisfaction, that he has just made himself poorer again.
- And for that you agreed to set me free?
- Yes, - John shook his head irritably, belatedly realising his lapse. – And I let you keep your land.
- In exchange for Gisborne giving up his manor, - Marian rejoined.
- Yes! – John hissed. He was fuming, seeing as he was sinking deeper with every word. - But before you bewail your precious Gisborne, you should know that I granted him a manor at Lamorna. And you should also know that he tried to stop my... – John halted abruptly, suddenly aware that the word coronation was really uncalled for, considering the letter that Marian was holding. – And he once held a sword to my neck! – he finished indignantly.
- You have my full commiseration, Your Highness, - Marian responded with a tight-lipped smile. – Now, where exactly would this manor of Lamorna be?
- As if you did not know, - he snorted. – As if you were not in league with your lover!
- Believe it or not, - Marian replied sternly, surprised that John's words had offended her more because they were not true than because they contained an accusation of sin, – we are not lovers. And I have no idea where the manor is... – she made a good show of reading her copy of the letter to Philippe – but I am very interested in finding out.
- Cornwall, - John flung the word at her as if it were a curse.
- Thank you, Your Highness.
She paused. It was going well so far, but to get everything she wanted out of this encounter, she needed to scale down the hostilities, probably even call a truce.
– Forgive me for my... impolite intrusion, - she presently continued, eliciting another snort from John. – I know that it looks most unlikely, but I assure you that I want nothing more than to be your ally. I am merely concerned about your safety, and have your best interests at heart in this matter.
– And yours, naturally, - John added resentfully.
- Mine and Gisborne's.
- And you dare assert that you are not lovers? – John looked offended, as if she had insulted his intelligence.
- We are not, I swear. –At least I can swear to it, whether or not I am pleased with it. – I am... indebted to him.
John smirked. Whatever games the woman was playing with regards to Gisborne were probably none of his concern. Unlike getting out of this quandary with his head attached.
- So, - he asked again, though in a voice less venomous and more resigned, - what is it you want?
- I want to make sure that Your Highness is safe and secure in your station as the Count of Mortain and royal heir, and that you remain on the best of terms with your brother Richard. - She tried to infuse her voice with respect that she did not feel.
- And to that end, you have sent my brother the letter that you stole from me, - John said darkly.
Detestable or not, Marian mused, he has to be complimented on his sense of irony.
- I have sent it to France, Your Highness, - she tried to soften her voice, - as a precautionary measure. After all, it would be dangerous to have that sort of document bearing your seal lying around. But I do not necessarily intend to have it delivered to the king.
- Why would that be? – John asked gloomily.
- Because I would not want to aggrieve you needlessly, - she said smoothly, and even though both knew it to be a lie, John was forced to smirk. – And because I value my life, and just as the delivery of that letter to King Richard would be... undesirable for you, it would also be dangerous for me.
- How so? – John seemed intrigued.
- I am certain that your brother loves you very much, - she began obliquely, - and while the receipt of that message would greatly aggrieve him, I am sure that his... disappointment would be temporary. But in the meantime, knowing the provenance of the letter, I suspect that... some of your friends may be enticed to... avenge your hardships on the person who occasioned them.
- In other words, - John translated her sophisticated hints, - you fear that my brother may not kill me, and I will be able to arrange your murder out of spite?
Marian smirked.
- I would not quite put it so... harshly, Your Highness, knowing you to be a noble and kind-hearted prince, - she struggled to keep her face straight as John looked genuinely pleased with the outrageous flattery, - but I fear that your supporters may take a rather... radical view of things.
- So you intend to keep the letter in France as a standing threat to me.
- I believe it is best in the interests of... safekeeping. This way, everything stays as it is. You are safe, your brother is safe – as safe as he may be considering that he is waging a war – and I have no reasons to fear for my life, for if anything were to happen to me – or Gisborne, - she added pointedly, - I have arrangements in place that shall lead to the delivery of the letter.
- And that would be all you desire? – John was too shrewd to think that her demands ended there.
- Almost all, Your Highness. – Marian cast down her eyes in an imitation of modesty. – Considering that I conducted myself... inappropriately at your court, and considering that your name was... needlessly implicated in some... dubious dealings, all I desire is to restore the state of affairs to a point before all these unfortunate events took place. There is little that remains to bring it about; I am free, thanks to your gracious decision, and you and your brother love each other as warmly as ever, - she noticed the curiosity in John's face as he wondered where she was going with that. – All that remains is for Lord Gisborne to receive his four thousand marks and the office of the Sheriff of Nottingham, - oh, and the manor of Clifton, and everything will be in place.
For the first time since the beginning of this bizarre audience, Marian saw unadulterated panic in John's face.
- I cannot do it! – the words tumbled helplessly from his lips. – After Gisborne resigned I... petitioned the Chief Justiciar to give the post to William de Ferrers, a very distinguished young gentleman...
- ...whose wife happens to be your very distinguished... companion, Your Highness? – Marian interrupted coldly.
- That has nothing to do with it! – protested John, but the blush crept up onto his cheeks. – de Ferrers was all but promised this appointment by my brother even before we met... and if you must know, his wife's family are important vassals of mine... and I spent four hundreds marks from the four thousand that Gisborne gave me, - he finished limply.
Marian paused to collect her thoughts. She was disappointed to hear about the Sheriff's position, and knew that with the Nottingham posting set to stay in Ferrers' hands, the chances of Guy getting another appointment as Sheriff were slim. Even though Hubert Walter had eventually remembered him for a competent official, he had a long list of candidates vying for these positions, and Gisborne, who had received his appointment in a freak turn of events and had now been seen to resign, was unlikely to get to the top of the list too soon. Then again, rather than fight an uphill battle for an unattainable goal, perhaps she could use her advantage to secure a different sort of payoff.
- It is... most regrettable, Your Highness, - she sighed, seemingly unwilling to let John off the hook, - but as our time is drawing to a close and it would be unfortunate to keep His Grace waiting, perhaps we can move on to the final point that may help settle the matter. As we know, Lord Gisborne also gave up the manor of Clifton when he resigned.
- Oh, he can have it back! – John exclaimed with palpable relief.
- I was not thinking of Clifton, - Marian countered, tapping her sleeve with the vellum she held in her other hand, - after all, it is but a small manor and we have to consider that Lord Gisborne has given up a very important post. I was thinking... – she pretended to study the ceiling, - that as Your Highness has recently had some of your lands restored to you, a bigger manor within one of your holdings – say, twenty hides? – would be more... commensurate.
She knew twenty hides to be a rather outrageous request; she had known of earls holding estates smaller than that. Locksley, for that matter, was hardly bigger than a dozen; Knighton, about ten.
Not surprisingly, John bristled.
- It is an impossible request, my lady! In all the tracts I have been given back, I could hardly think of an unoccupied manor of more than six hundred acres!
- An unfortunate turn of events indeed, Your Highness, - Marian commented, eyeing him sarcastically. – For I may just be forgetful enough in my distress to leave this document in plain view when His Grace joins us, - she twirled the vellum, and for a moment feared that John might wrestle her for it, but the prince only hissed in frustration.
- Ten, - he gritted.
- Fifteen, Your Highness.
- Twelve.
- Deal, - she said, pretending to be reluctant, though in reality it was about as much as she could hope for.
-It will not be in Nottinghamshire, though, - John added quickly, anxious to keep her from arguing again. – The closest estate I have that big is in Leicestershire.
Marian suppressed a smile. The prince was positively becoming a pleasure to deal with.
- It is of no consequence, Your Highness, so long as it is twelve hides and given to Gisborne.
- He will have it.
- And the money.
- Three thousand six hundred marks.
- If that is what is left, - Marian feigned disappointment.
- Is that all? – John sounded hopeful.
- And my carriage that you confiscated, - she could not help adding.
- And your carriage. Now can I have the letter?
- You will have it, Your Highness, the moment that I have the money and the deed to the estate. But I would suggest for the sake of procedure that these are handed over in His Grace's presence. So as to make sure I do not misappropriate them, given that His Grace shall be bearing witness, - she added quickly, though both knew that it was duplicity on John's part that she was safeguarding against.
- You are not going to...
- I shall wait for the right moment when His Grace is... otherwise occupied, - Marian assured him. – As for the letter he has come here to... discuss, - she took half a step closer to John, still keeping her distance but mimicking the manner of a loyal confidante, - I am certain that His Grace will understand that it was just an unfortunate comment on the state of the Normandy campaign that was... worded in such a confusing manner as to be easily misinterpreted, and that you were merely concerned for your brother's well-being and wanted to... rally his allies to your joint cause.
- Indeed, - John sighed. Whatever the meeting with the Chief Justiciar had in store, he was so shaken and exhausted by his conversation with Marian that he could not think how it could be any worse than that. – And how shall I explain all this... bounty that is to befall Gisborne? – he grumbled.
- Reward for the good services he rendered as Sheriff of Nottingham, - Marian answered smoothly. She chose not to mention that Hubert Walter must have understood the real turn of events all too well; there was nothing wrong, after all, with keeping up appearances so long as justice was served. – Now, Your Highness, shall we ask His Grace to come in?
*
The meeting was mercifully brief; John had understood from his conversation with Marian that his position was too precarious to leave room for anything but thinly veiled retreat. He expected a sound rebuke for the letter, and received it, but his contrite manner, coupled with the excuse Marian had supplied, had served to soon steer the conversation into a more conciliatory vein.
It was dangerous, the Chief Justiciar said, to give rise to any false impression of hostility between himself and his brother, and it would be prudent to avoid any liaisons or missives that could be thus misconstrued. Everyone present understood what was really being said and what warnings were being given, and it seemed that the prince was sufficiently convinced of the risk of contemplating fratricide given the outstanding evidence against him that could be readily produced. In the end, John declared that his long stay in England had made him rather miss his castle at Mortain, and to Marian's secret amusement and Hubert Walter's open approval, announced that he would soon depart for Normandy. So that he can better insinuate himself into Richard's confidence, Marian guessed, in case his treasonous dealings are exposed. Well, that letter should be safe in Archer's care should I need it, and meanwhile I got what I wanted... for now.
At Marian's reminder – not that it had been necessary – John called for his treasurer and a scribe, and a short while later a chest of gold was brought in, the coins laboriously counted and the deed to the Leicestershire estate of Huncote drafted, and the matter of Gisborne and the ransom was concluded to John's chagrin and Marian's great satisfaction.
The meeting finished, Marian picked up the deed, and told the servants that John had summoned to put the money chest into her reclaimed carriage before ceremoniously kneeling at the prince's feet.
- Your humble servant forever, Your Highness, - she made a show of respectfully kissing John's hand. As she bent down and her long hair cascaded to hide John's hand from view, she slipped the tightly rolled vellum into the sleeve of his tunic before standing up and flashing the prince a triumphant smile. John nodded at her, relief apparent in his face. No need to tell him thatI have hidden a second copy under the floorboards of the inn at Windsor hamlet. Not yet, at least.
She was happy. She felt free, proud, powerful.
This was so much better than playing the Nightwatchman.
*
- Where are you going now, Lady Marian? – the Chief Justiciar asked when they were out in the courtyard. She had changed clothes and was once more wearing her dress, the masquerade over.
- Cornwall, - she answered simply.
- Gisborne, - he ventured.
- Yes, Your Grace.
- Seeing as you are going on a long journey and carrying a chest full of gold, - he continued, - I would suggest that you take two of my guards with you. – They had travelled to Windsor with an escort of four mounted guards, and by dividing their number the Chief Justiciar made sure that Marian was not defenceless while maintaining decorum and prudent security for himself.
- Thank you, Your Grace, for all your kindness to me. – She knelt to kiss his hand.
- You deserve it despite your rash actions, child, - he used the churchman's form of address to her for once, - for your purity of heart redeems you.
Moments later, having bid Hubert Walter a respectful farewell and received a warm final blessing, Marian climbed into her carriage and settled down on the cushions. Her life seemed to be going in circles; a year before she had embarked on a trip to see Guy that had started almost exactly like that and had brought her heartbreak. Would this time be any different? It is different, she smirked, I have a new carriage now. And I am different too, she mused as the carriage rolled out of the gate, wondering if she would ever have to come back to Windsor Castle. It had been a fateful place for her, witness alike to her closest brush with death and to her dizzying moment of triumph in the face of the greatest challenge.
She sighed.
No, not the greatest. This has been the easy part. Time to face the real challenge now.
.
End of Part II
.