Illusions 19
Back in his chamber, Guy took the letter that Rhobert had given him back. He knew it by heart by now. Your life will be what you make of it. But what kind of life lay ahead of him? When he had risen, still weakened by the fever, he had moved his sword arm, had tried his muscles and the flexibility of his fingers and only then had he realised that it didn't matter any longer. Never again would he hold a sword in his hands. He wasn't a knight any longer and owned neither a horse nor weapons. Again and again he saw himself kneeling in the courtyard of the Tower of London, the humiliation….He didn't regret having tried to kill the King; he would do it again in the blink of an eye, but at the very moment, when he had knelt in the dust, he had remembered what he had sworn as a young knight; little had he kept.
During the following days, the abbot kept looking for Guy, who could not refuse without appearing rude. He knew that he owed his life to the monk, even if this life didn't mean anything to him now.
Rhobert saw that Guy was recovering physically, but he didn't like the obvious resignation and his lack of interest in his future. At the same time he seemed restless in a strange way. Rhobert had enough insight into human nature to understand that this man had a temper to match. Crossing him was probably dangerous, but this temper guided in the right direction…. Rhobert sensed Guy's mistrust and knew that every attempt to manipulate him could only go wrong. Obviously, he didn't want to reveal his innermost thoughts and a few days hence he would journey on. Even so, he didn't reject Rhobert's company and he turned out to be an excellent chess player.
Gloomily, Rhobert looked at his chess board; he would lose again. But then his mien brightened. Perhaps if he moved the bishop to… "Are you going to tell me what you will do once you leave us?"
For a second Rhobert saw the trace of anger in Guy's eyes, but the man kept his countenance. "You know as well as I do that I don't have any plans for my future," he said evenly. I would be…grateful, if you gave me a simple garment and showed me the way to the next town. I will try to… hire out there… Check!"
Rhobert sensed how difficult it was for Guy to make this request. "Perhaps…." He hesitated. „Perhaps you could stay for a while. We are always in need of some helping hands for the labour the brothers cannot do due to their age. There are only few young men here." He grimaced. „Generally, the abbot is not the youngest monk in the monastery… Stables have to be cleaned, barrels to be carried. I won't pull the wool over your eyes. Our order is a poor one; it's hard work and we cannot pay much."
Guy kept silent, his face betraying nothing.
"You needn't be afraid that I'm offering you work in order to draw your secret from you," the abbot added and then grinned sheepishly. "…although I have to admit that I have a selfish motive; none of the brothers can play chess as good as you by far."
Guy knew that Rhobert had built a bridge for him by the playful way he had offered him work. Perhaps it was better this way and he should really stay here. And Rhobert was right; he didn't have to tell him more than he wanted."
"I'm staying," he said curtly. "Checkmate!"
Rhobert had not exaggerated; labour at the monastery was hard. But nevertheless it was a reprieve he needed. Eventually, he would have to leave the monastery and then he would face a life as a day- taler, his best years over, no money, no influence, and no family. What almost hurt most, surprisingly, was having no family. Often, he thought about Anne and Osgood and their letter had been read a hundred times by now.
The monks didn't ask any questions, although they had exchanged several surprised glances when the abbot had told them that Guy would stay, not as a guest but as a labourer. Another surprise was that Rhobert had been true to his word for he didn't ask any further questions either. Guy was given a sparse room and he joined the monks for their meals. He declined, however, when Rhobert invited him to attend mass with them. „It would be hypocrisy, Father Rhobert," he said without further explanation. He expected questions or admonitions, but Rhobert only said. "I'm not the one to put pressure on people or to talk them into something. If or when you are ready to join us, you are welcome anytime.
"You are certainly an extraordinary monk, Rhobert." For the first time in weeks Guy smiled.
"I know; I have been told numerous times. I'll see you later."
Rhobert looked at the chessboard, musing. They had made it a habit to play frequently in the evening. "A weakness," the abbot had admitted. "Competing with someone seems to be a part of me, although in this bloodless manner." He grumbled impatiently. "And as it seems I'm being punished right away or at least being taught humility. I thought I would be better at chess by now, but instead I'm losing again."
Can it be that this man is authentic? Guy asked himself time and again. He had been living in the monastery for several weeks and so far he hadn't noticed anything that would indicate that the man was harbouring ulterior motives. Meanwhile, Guy had learned some things about the abbot's past. "I cannot stand the sight of blood," Rhobert had laughed one day. "My father was rather embarrassed when I fainted like a girl after I had nicked my opponent in a sword fight."
Guy couldn't believe what he'd heard. This giant of a man had not been put into the monastery by his parents for some obscure reason; he was simply not meant to be a warrior. He loved nature and books and hated violence. Eventually his father had accepted that Rhobert would never be a knight, so his son had become a clergyman instead. If he had been hoping for an influential position for Rhobert, he saw himself disappointed again. Rhobert was not interested in a career and he joined an order not exactly known for its wealth. The Bishop made him an abbot after only a short time and Rhobert had always known that his father was behind this, although the latter had always denied it.
Where is Father Robert?" Guy looked around in the refectory. The abbot had not been at lunch – this happened from time to time – but now it was dinnertime and he was nowhere to be seen. Brother Dafydd's face was concerned. "He has been called to his father's deathbed. A breakdown and God alone knows whether Father Rhobert will be in time."
Ten days later Rhobert returned to the monastery. His father had died and the young abbot's pale, solemn face showed how deeply this death had affected him. He didn't talk much and some days went by until he asked Guy to join his for the usual chess play. He was, however, too preoccupied to concentrate on their play.
"You've good memories of your father, haven't you? Guy asked eventually. Rhobert nodded without uttering a word and Guy went on. "Treasure these memories…I …I will tell you a story."
The memory of beatings was one of his first memories ever. Why did his father hate him so much? It was much later that his mother told him why Guillaume of Gisborne, whom he had regarded as his father, treated him so cruelly.
Mary had been fifteen years old, when she had come to King Henry's court, the daughter of Simon of Tyrone, a man, who had excelled in several battles and had been knighted by the King, and Héloise de Tyrone, who had been borne in France. The King had been taken with the little courtlady and soon the girl had been too infatuated to resist the King's charm. King Eleanor was used to her husband's affairs and although she was resentful, she had learned to live with his flings. Usually these affairs were over after only a few weeks, but somehow this had been different. And then Mary got pregnant. Desperately, she turned to the King, but he had repudiated her cruelly and had asked her whether she even remembered with how many men she had slept. Mary had recoiled in shock.
It was much later that Mary learned the truth. Stirred up by his jealous mother, Henry's son Richard had spread evil gossip about the young woman, and the King had believed these lies to be true.
She was fetched by her father and only two weeks later she had been married to Guillaume of Gisborne, a childless widower, even older as her father. Mary had got a large dowry and Guillaume had married the young woman he had needed to give him the desired heir. For this he had been willing to raise another man's child. But after Guy's birth, Mary remained childless and Guillaume looked with hatred upon the cuckoo in his house and his young wife, who bore his touches with merely suppressed revulsion.
He had drunken before, but now the periods where he stayed sober, were scarce. Although Guy didn't remember everything, he knew only too well, how Guillaume had called Mary a worthless whore and had beaten her time and again. He took special pleasure in whipping the young boy to hurt his mother. And one day, Mary had not risen again, when her husband had struck her down. Guy would never forget the pool of blood on the floor, his own futile attempts to wake his mother up, her funeral…
His grandfather had been already dead and the grandmother had returned to her French family. A few months after his mother's death, his grandmother's steward had fetched Guy and had taken him to France, where he had grown up.
Rhobert had looked in shock at Guy. "So you are one of King Henry's natural sons?"
"One of many," Guy replied. "He was said to have about twenty bastards, some of them the spitting image of their father. It was only this occasion, however, that Queen Eleanor and her son Richard saw the need to get rid of a gullible young woman and the unwanted child." He paused. "This is part of the story, you always wanted to know; I only wanted to show you that you are happy with the joyful memories of your father." Seeing Rhobert's gaze, he added, „I definitely don't want you to pity me."
"I'm more than grateful," Rhobert said solemnly. "Not only because you trusted me enough to tell me your story but also for the comfort you gave me. I should be the one to comfort people, but you….Thank you."
They remained silent until Rhobert asked pensively. "This is the reason for your hatred of King Richard, isn't it."
"I've hated him all my life," Guy replied in a flat voice. "… and I still hate him. …Hatred is what kept me alive when nothing else remained." His eyes flashed and he doubled his fists, but as quickly as his anger had risen, it disappeared, his face betraying nothing.
He has learned to control and suppress his feelings, Rhobert thought. "It was your hatred then that brought you to Wales?" he asked.
"I may tell you the rest of the story as well; it doesn't matter any longer," Guy said. "I have tried to kill the King on his crusade to the Holy Land. I have joined people I detested and I have broken every oath I have sworn as a young knight. You'll definitely want no truck with me."
"But I do," Rhobert replied. "And I want to be your friend."