Chapter 4
Imprisonment
Robin had finally calmed and now was sleeping. Much waited for any vocal sign of life from his master in silence, and it was a long, dark, interminable waiting. In the tent, the air grew close and frightfully oppressive, and Much was suffering intensely from the heat.
"We have heard what happened to Robin," the low baritone spoke behind Much, the voice edged with sadness and kindness, yet firm and steady. This voice belonged to King Richard. This time, the King spoke using royal "we", though he was only in Much's presence.
Much immediately slid off his chair; he knelt and lowered his head in a respectful bow. "My liege," he mumbled to greet his sovereign.
"Rise," the King permitted, his voice soft, barely audible.
Much felt the hand on his shoulder, which dismissed him from his bow. Slowly, he leaped to his feet and looked at the King. "How can I help you, milord?" He bowed again.
"We came to visit our dear friend," the King said with an undeniable affection, his face expressionless, but his eyes full of anguish. "May we stay a little bit?"
"Sire, you don't need to ask my permission. I'm just a servant; you are the King."
"You are taking care of Robin, and it is prudent to ask," Richard said quietly.
"Sire, I… I…" The servant stumbled with words.
"Much, it is fine. Now take a seat," Richard offered as he sat on the edge of the bed.
Much gave the King a grateful look as his body tumbled in his chair. "Thank you, milord."
Richard took Robin's hand in his and gently squeezed it. "Robin is strong. He will not die. He will survive." He tried to reassure the servant and himself that they should have hope. "He saved our life. By the grace of God, he cannot die after that."
"It is a fight with death. It is worse than battles with the Saracens," Much commented.
"We know." Richard sighed, frustrated and aggrieved. "But he is a unique man. God cannot take him from us, for it would be a great loss for England and everyone."
"He cannot leave me. He cannot leave us," Much lamented.
Richard brushed a strand of sandy color from Robin's forehead and touched it. "He is so hot."
"As usual, sire. Nothing changes day after day."
Richard let out a heavy sigh. "We should wait. He will awake."
"I hope so much that he will survive," Much whispered.
"He will awake because he is our Robin," the King said confidently. "He will give us a great surprise and cheat death." He let out a small laugh. "Let's say it is his new crazy half a plan to scare us so much and then awake." But he wasn't sure that it would be so, although the voice in the back of his head said that Robin would show his trump card at the very end.
Much nodded gratefully. Almost everyone, save the King, Leicester, and Much, had already given up on Robin and with heavy hearts had written off the young Captain of the Private Guard from the world of the living. Given that many had already reconciled with the idea of Robin's death, Much was especially grateful to the King for the smallest glimmer of hope.
For a while, the King of England and the manservant sat in a perfect silence, looking at Robin and silently praying for him. At that moment, they were just two men united in their grief and concern for the life of the heroic man who lay feverish and possibly dying on the bed.
Holding Robin's hand in his larger one, King Richard eyed Robin, his heart in his throat at the sight of the ghostly pale and abnormally lean Robin. The King smiled, with a vague, sad smile of the powerful man who adored and loved the wounded warrior very much and didn't want to lose him to death, regretting that his absolute power could not help him to save Robin. He was not a God – he was a mere mortal, even if he was the mighty King of England.
"How is the captured disguised Saracen?" Much asked. "He was also wounded and twice."
Much was so busy with Robin in the past days that he had never uttered a word about the culprit of his master's sickness. He didn't care that the doctors struggled to keep the assassin alive so that they could interrogate him later about the regicide attempt. Much hated the unknown man with all his heart; he asked the King about the masked Saracen because he wished to hear about his death.
"The assassin has regained his conscience. He is still imprisoned and heavily guarded to avoid any attempt of his escape. Soon we will begin his interrogation."
Much frowned; anger stirred in his heart. "Will he survive?"
The monarch turned to face Much. He gave him a long, searching look, then averted his gaze. "The assassin will live as long as we need him," he said, his face hardening at the thought of the assassin's fatal role in Robin's demise. "Robin will also live," he added in soothing tones, understanding the servant's anger and wishing to allay him.
"I hope he will tell us who organized that regicide."
"Maybe not. Assassins are usually stubborn," the King retorted.
"I know nothing about that, sire."
"If he keeps silent and refuses to cooperate, he will be executed and will die a brutal death. But, of course, I would love Robin to recover and take interrogation in his hands."
Suddenly, Robin stirred and slowly moved his head. He jerked his head up a few times and swallowed hard. His eyelids fluttered up and down when he awoke from a dream. He moaned and mumbled something under his breath.
"Robin," the King murmured. He patted Robin on his shoulder; then he put his hand on his forehead, and gently started stroking the warrior's hair, a gesture of affection.
Much jumped from his chair and knelt on the bed, staring at Robin with eyes.
"Master Robin, please wake up," Much pleaded softly. "Please open your eyes."
"Marian," Robin murmured as a corner of his mouth curved up in a ghost of a smile.
"Another dream, this time happy," Richard remarked with a smile.
In the past days, the King witnessed many times how his grand favorite, shivering with fever, moans escaping his dry lips, only briefly conscious and extremely anxious, called his mother and father, his best friends and Much, dreamed of going back to England, to Locksley. Once Robin awoke when the King was at his side, and he begged the King to reward Much for his services in the Holy Land and grant him one of many manors he owned in England.
Robin often awoke from a fitful sleep broken by his nightmares about crimson sand and mutilated bodies rotting in the desert. He couldn't escape from the grip of nightmares about death and bloodshed in neither in fever dreams nor in a healthy state. Richard understood that the images of death troubled his favorite so much; he also saw bloody battles in his dreams and fought desperately against them, though he had never told anyone about that.
Most often, Robin desperately called his beloved Marian; he begged her to come to him and never leave, confessing that he loved her despite so many years and miles of distance and separation. Once, when Much, King Richard, and Robert de Beaumont stood near the bed, Robin again started tossing and talking in his fever; he lamented that he had broken Marian's heart and begged her for forgiveness before his death.
"About her," Much said. "About Lady Marian."
"We sent a messenger to England, to Nottingham, to carry our message for Sir Edward of Knighton, who, we believe, is Lady Marian's father. We wrote the letter by ourselves."
Much was abashed; he didn't expect to hear that. He didn't know that Robin had talked to Richard about Marian because Robin had never spoken about her to him. It appeared that Robin had been franker with the King, and he was jealous. "Why, sire?"
The King's face darkened. "Robin asked us to bury him in Locksley on the night of the attack. We had to inform Sir Edward and Lady Marian that Robin could die after he had heroically saved us, displaying great courage and unconditional loyalty. We warned Sir Edward that if Robin died, we would send our people to bring him to Locksley," he elaborated. "We promised to take the best care of him and notify them about the outcome."
"Oh," Much gasped. He understood Richard and was grateful. "Thank you, my liege," Much said genuinely. He was startled how deeply the King cared for Robin.
"Marian, forgive me." Robin's smile evolved into a grimace of heartache and remorse.
"Oh, Master! She loves you! She will forgive you! You only need to survive!"
The lion inclined his head, his gaze focused firmly on Robin's pale face, watching his eyelashes twitch ever so lightly. "He will come home to her, eventually," he said hesitantly.
In reality, the King still didn't know whether he should send Robin home if he survived. There were many conspiracies against him, most likely led by Prince John, and someone needed to investigate the plots, while Robin was the best man for that mission. Since Robin had joined the King's Private Guard, they prevented countless regicide attempts under Robin's leadership and guidance. Robin personally foiled many assassination attempts.
There were other important things King Richard couldn't dismiss. If Prince John had been behind the last assassination attempt on his life, Robin could have been persecuted by John's men in England. A man of low moral principles, John could command to arrest, imprison and execute Robin. If it were John's plot to murder Richard, then soon Prince John would learn who had saved Richard; then Robin's life could be in danger because of John. Knowing his younger brother's vengeful nature, Richard feared for Robin's life if he sent his loyal knight to England.
In addition, Richard still didn't know how the masked Saracen was connected to Robin and what he had against his Captain. The King suspected that the assassin had planned to murder Robin and him on the night of the attack; his gut feeling told him that his suspicions were not groundless. He had to think more and to weight all the options, of course, if Robin pulled through; he had to protect Robin from all dangers.
Much gave a confused look to the King. "Will we go home if he recovers?" He dared hope that they would return to England, but he doubted that the King would release Robin from his servitude if his master survived; he tried not to let his hopes go up.
"We don't know yet," Richard responded truthfully. "It may be dangerous for Robin. We don't know who our enemies at home are." He sighed. "We need to think."
"The King, the King," Robin murmured.
Richard and Much reacted immediately and stared at Robin.
"We are here, Robin," Richard confirmed.
"The King is under attack!" Robin exclaimed, tossing his head on the pillow.
"He is dreaming of that Saracen raid. He often dreams about it," Much explained.
"Robin, it is over. You saved us, and we are here only because of your brave actions on that night. Now it is time for you to get better," Richard said; he started stroking Robin's hair.
"Much! Much! Saracen raid! Get help!" Robin shouted.
Robin removed his hand from Richard's and began moving frantically on the bed; his hands were clenched in fists, his eyes tightly shut. He was taking deep and painful breaths, each of which drew a quiet whimper from his mouth; his newly stitched wound hurt him so much that it was hard to inhale and exhale with full lugs.
"Stop it, Master! Please stop!" Much appealed. "He will hurt himself! His wound will re-open! We have to restrain him again!"
Richard leaned forward and placed his large hands on Robin's shoulders; felt Robin's hot skin and could almost feel his bones, shocked how much weight Robin had lost. Much grabbed Robin's legs, holding him tightly to prevent him from a feverish struggle. They spent several minutes in the same position, patiently waiting for Robin to calm. Then Robin's forces left him again, and he sank into unconsciousness, his head falling back on the pillow.
The monarch looked relieved. "You will be fine, Robin. You have to follow your fate, and you not destined to die in the Holy Land. We want you to live and you can do that us. Now take your rest and recover," he told his favorite, even though Robin couldn't hear him.
Much looked dismayed. "Soon he will begin doing the same again."
"Stay with him and call someone to help you if he repeats that," the King advised. "Now we need to leave. Raoul will come here soon."
"I don't know how to thank you for everything, milord."
"Trifles," the King said, waving his head. "We will ensure that you will take care of Robin and that you have everything you need to help him. If you need anything for Robin and yourself, just ask and you will have it. Our best doctors will continue looking after him, even though they don't have much hope. They will do what we order them."
The King and the servant nodded at each other in silent agreement, and Richard walked out of the tent. Much lingered his gaze at the flap of the tent after the monarch had left.
Much hurried back to Robin's bed. He sat on the same rug where he had slept on before, and took his master's limp hand in his, preparing for a long night ahead and resting his head on the edge of the bed. After so many years in the Holy Land, Much had learned to sleep between long, grueling battles in all positions, no matter how uncomfortable they were. But tonight he gave himself a word that he wouldn't sleep, keeping a watchful eye on his master.
ææææææ
The masked Saracen had been injured twice by Robin of Locksley, his wound on his right side almost grave. Doctor Matthew Béliveau, the physician who tended to Guy's wounds, was not sure of his survival because of the huge blood loss and the infection; it was a miracle that Robin's blade had missed Guy's lung as Robin had not only plunged his scimitar into Guy's side but also had twisted it inside Guy's flesh. Double cauterization of the wound on his side sealed the blood vessels, but blood continued draining from the raw wound for at least one more day.
Guy was kept prisoner under strong guard. Sir Legrand de Maulevrier, who was charged with guarding the prisoner by King Richard, placed many guards in the corridor and near the doors to the dungeon. In spite of Guy's unconscious state, physical weakness, and utter helplessness, two guards were ordered to watch the prisoner inside the cell day and night.
The physician visited Guy twice per day and tended to his wounds, as he was ordered by the King. Guy contracted high fever in the afternoon of the day following the ill-fated attack. For several days, he was somewhere between life and death, barely clinging to life and struggling for every breath. He suffered severe pain from his two injuries, groaning and cursing violently, but the doctor gave him no pain-relieving pills only once because there was the lack of such medicine in the camp and because King Richard's personal physician reserved many pills exclusively for Captain Locksley.
In his fevered dreams, Guy tossed and turned on the straw mattress, his movements restrained by the chains he could never break. He often awoke in cold sweat and called his mother in French and his father in English, so that the witnesses decided that he probably was half-English and half-French. At times, he confessed in great love to the so-called Lady Marian, the dame of his heart, as he referred to her; he implored her to save him and wash away his sins with her pure heart.
His heart thumping painfully in his chest, his lungs struggling to breathe, Guy shivered in terror every time when he had the dream about the fire that killed Ghislane and Roger of Gisborne. He begged and begged his parents for forgiveness, for letting them down and failing to take them away from the burning manor. He screamed at the top of his voice that he had failed his parents, again starting to beg them for forgiveness. He muttered something, under his breath, about the roaring of the fire and the howling wind, about his sister and the banishment from somewhere.
The dreams about the fire, the smoke, and the tragic deaths of his parents regularly disrupted his restless oblivion. Once, appalled and frightened by the hideous dream of the burning house together with his dying parents, Guy flung himself forward in an almost convulsive movement, intending to get away from the haunting vision, but not aware in his fever that the chains didn't let him move far away. His wounds throbbed, and he roared savagely in pain. The guards had to fetch the physician, who partly re-stitched the wound on his side.
Gisborne often spelled out Robin's name, which attracted special attention of the King's guards.
"Robin of Locksley," Guy hissed through gritted teeth. "You will pay with your life."
Legrand approached Guy and leaned down; he jerked up Guy's chin and spoke with great vehemence. "What do you have against our Robin? What do you want from him?"
"Locksley! I hate you!" Guy screamed. The sound rose to a shrill pitch of agony and hatred.
Why do you hate Robin? How do you know him?" Legrand asked harshly; then he straightened his spine and stepped aside, still looking down at the assassin.
"Have no fear, Legrand. He will do nothing to Robin. He is feverish," Sir James of Kent said.
Legrand shook his head. "I know that he is in fever. But this can be very serious because this damned man hates Robin and wants him dead."
"This criminal is imprisoned and guarded. He can do nothing to Robin," James of Kent pressed on. "But I know that all of us are very angry that Robin is struggling for his life because of this cursed murderer. Believe me that I hate him as much as everyone here hates him."
Legrand nodded. "I know, James." He clenched his fists. "I hate this worm."
"This assassin will pay for everything," James assured them. "We will make him regret that he was born."
In the next moment, the choking emotions of anger and hatred overwhelmed Guy. "Rot in hell, Malcolm of Locksley, where you belong," he muttered. "I swear I will take revenge against your despicable son, scum and braggart Robin. I will avenge the plight of my family."
The Earl of Leicester, who uttered no word until now and watched the scene with an intensive gaze, narrowed his eyes at the prisoner. "Your life is a poor thing, the masked Saracen, for it will be soon forfeited for your sins," he spoke to Guy as though Guy could hear him. His tone was insolent and cool. "But you are important to us. We don't want to lose the chance to learn who your master is. You are a miserable weakling and idiot."
Then his inflamed mind replayed the handsome, grinning face of the grown-up Robin, and, unable to bear the hateful sight, Guy screamed at the top of his lungs that Robin would die at his blade. Then he instinctively tried to break from the chains, but again ended up only hurting himself. James and Legrand restrained Guy and held him roughly by an irresistible force.
Legrand snorted. "I will kill him by myself and right now. I'm barely able to repress my rage."
"Damn him," James hissed.
Leicester laughed morbidly. "How very childish, my dear assassin!" he cried out mockingly. "Do you seek to leave us? Where would you go? There is nothing here but sand and death."
"Let me go! I have to leave! I have to kill King Richard! Vaisey will never forgive me if I fail! I have to find and kill the King!" Gisborne cried out, struggling with all his strength, his jaw grimly clenched to keep his teeth from chattering. "Only let me go! I will give you anything you want! I will be rich and have power beyond measure when I kill the King!"
"Shut up, you piece of trash!" James bellowed.
"Keep your mouth shut, you bastard!" Legrand fumed.
The Earl of Leicester smiled darkly. "He is not a quiet man."
"I will cut his tongue if he continues speaking such things about the King and Robin," Legrand snapped.
"Just don't do that before his interrogation," Leicester pointed out.
"Locksley, I will settle scores with you when Richard is dead," Guy threatened.
There was a dreadful, long silence, so profound that no one could even bring themselves to say a
word and tear their eyes from the masked Saracen.
"Maybe he knows Robin and wants him dead," Leicester declared suddenly, seized by a terrible suspicion. He didn't say that Robin's father had also died in the fire many years ago, although his mind drifted off to that event as soon as he heard the assassin muttering something about his parents and the fire. "But it doesn't mean that Robin knows him."
"And what do you think, Lord Leicester?" Legrand inquired.
"I think this bloody bastard came here to kill King Richard and Robin on the same night," Leicester opined, his voice edged with anger. "This must be reported to the King today."
Guy flashed a vague smile; harshness was gone from his face. "Marian," he moaned.
The Crusaders shared startled glances. Unable to free himself from the sense of bad foreboding, Leicester glanced away, sighing in frustration; the name of Robin's former fiancée also was Marian as well, and he didn't know what to say and think, but he didn't believe in such coincidences.
As though he had felt strong enough to fight the whole world now and win even in his feverish state, Gisborne continued fighting with them, subconsciously hoping that the weight of his body had not extinguished any spark of life remaining in his tall and strong figure. Eventually, they brought Doctor Matthew to the cell, and the man gave Guy calming draught.
Guy of Gisborne was too ill to be aware of what was going on around him. He was completely oblivious to the fact that the guards wrote down all his words and reported to Legrand how he behaved in his fever dreams; Legrand himself heard many things. Every evening, Legrand made a long and detailed report to the King, and his new report was going to be extremely alarming.
Legrand told the King about the strange words which the fake Saracen had spoken in his fever dreams. For a brief moment, the unforeseen revelation left the King speechless, the lines of displeasure forming round his mouth. The expression of a shocked surprise replaced the usually unemotional and dispassionate look on Richard's face; but in an instant, his face resumed its blankness. It was the last thing the King could have expected to ever hear from the disguised Saracen.
An instinctive shudder ran along Richard's spine at the thought that there could have been a certain connection between Robin and the masked Saracen. Based on the assassin's possible association with Robin and his hatred for the Captain of the Private Guard, the King decided that his duty was to investigate the failed assassination attempt not only on his own life but also on the life of the young Earl of Huntingdon. He would speak to Robin as soon as the young man awoke.
ææææææ
Guy of Gisborne was feverish for around a week, trembling in cold like an autumn leaf in the night and drenched with sweat in the daytime as the hot rays of the sun penetrated into the cell from the narrow glassless window and heated his skin. The pain in his wound on his right side was agonizing. Tolerating pain, Guy clenched his teeth and gasped for breath, straining his whole body and causing himself more pain. The stabs of pain drilled through his chest and his shoulder, and he groaned even when he didn't try to move his weakened body.
In the rays of the blazing midday sun, Guy opened his eyes and stared at the dark stone ceiling. He turned to face the light and his eyes studied the thick bars on the window. Confused, he blinked, but the vision didn't change and his eyes again fixed on the bars. He tried to move, but failed, again because of the chains; he realized that his wrists and ankles were shackled, and a long chain around his neck was securely clasped to the stone wall.
As he heard someone whispering something somewhere near him, Guy raised his head and his eyes locked with the hazel eyes of the Crusader who stood on the guard inside his cell. He realized that he lay on the uncomfortable straw mattress, in the corner of the cell.
Guy swept his eyes to examine his surroundings. The cell, an ancient casemate pierced by a single embrasure and framed with solid stone walls, was very dark but it did not take him long to understand that there were two guards inside the cell. On the left, the cell was equipped with solid, iron-studded wooden doors with tiny inset grilles; on the right, he saw the small window, with thick iron bars, allowing some light to flow inside. The reality sank in – he was in his prison.
"It seems that his fever broke," one of the King's men said quietly.
"He awoke," the other man confirmed.
"We should notify Sir Legrand."
The man laughed. "Our liege will be pleased that we will be able to start interrogation soon."
Those words produced a shudder of revulsion in Guy. He shut his eyes and cursed. His brain cleared sufficiently to remember what had happened and to realize that he was a prisoner in the Crusaders' camp. His trip to Acre was not a bad dream but, in its last stages at least, a horrible reality that materialized in his demise by Locksley's sword and his capture by the King's men.
Guy was quiet for the rest of the day. The two guards inside the cell also kept silent, watching him with sharp eyes, contemptuous smiles on their faces. There was no way of knowing how long he remained unconscious and feverish, but Guy could definitely say that his wounds were properly tended and he was taken care of; yet, he was treated like the dangerous criminal.
In the late afternoon, an ominous silence was broken by the clang of bolts being shot back. The door creaked, and then came the rough voice of two men; they entered to change the guards.
As soon as night fell, the revolting mosquitoes filled the small cell, and the guards began catching them with their arms. One of the mosquitoes landed on Guy's cheek and stung his skin, injecting its stagnant fever into his veins. Guy flinched and whimpered. With a thundering quickness, the guard approached Guy and struck him across his cheek, killing the insect; then he walked away and stood near the door.
Over the next few days, very few things changed. The physician continued coming to Guy every morning, tending to the masked Saracen's wounds and from time to time giving Gisborne unknown medicines and natural herbs as a preventive measure against infection and fever. He was told, surprisingly in Norman-French, that he would survive and recuperate. The medic promised that his injuries, although being serious, would heal, and Guy rejoiced that Locksley had failed not only to kill him but also to cause him a lingering injury.
Guy of Gisborne used the time of his imprisonment to contemplate the situation. His thoughts chased one another through his brain, driving him to insanity. What little thought remained in his brain was concentrated on the single idea of escaping from the Crusaders' camp and Acre. He had to get away, out of the reach of King Richard, Robin of Locksley, and anybody else.
Guy knew the only person who could help him to flee – the treacherous Crusader who had been bought by the Black Knights and had helped Guy organize the Saracen attack. He desperately prayed that he would once come to his dungeon; yet, time was passing, and he still was alone. But Guy knew that the King's men would soon come to him, and his interrogation would begin.
In a week after his awakening, the King's men came to Guy. Guy overheard how the young guards whispered with trepidation and admiration that the chief jailer of the masked Saracen was Sir Legrand de Maulevrier, King Richard's friend and favorite; he also heard that Legrand was called the strongest man among the King's men.
Legrand usually was not among the King's men, and he was always visited only by the Earl of Leicester, the King's another grand favorite, and several other men.
The interrogators asked Guy many questions, from his real name to his date of birth to the name of the person who hired him; they also asked him about the reasons of his hatred for Robin. They told him that he had talked a great deal about his family when he had been feverish; they asked who his parents were and why Guy blamed himself for their death in the fire. They suspected that he was half English, half French. Guy uttered no word in response.
Days were passing, and the interrogators came again and again, but Guy didn't talk. Guy overheard that the King had ordered to keep him alive. His heart was beating so wildly that he felt quite frantic but forced himself to think calmly. He knew why the King wanted to keep him alive – he needed information about the assassination attempt on his life and the people involved in the conspiracy. So far the Crusaders seemed to have no idea who he was.
But Robin of Locksley surely could say a lot about Guy, but he didn't lead and even participate in the interrogation. Guy was sure that Robin would understand his true identity in a matter of seconds, although many years had passed since their ways had parted on the day of the fire. But Locksley didn't appear yet, and he knew nothing about the state of Robin's health. He remembered about the minutes of his shameful demise in the King's tent; he could almost see again how Robin had disentangled from their embrace and then had lost his conscience.
Guy wondered where Robin was at the moment and whether he was recovering from his grave injury. Did Locksley die from his wound? Did Guy manage kill his archenemy? Or did fatal fever get Robin in its grip and was slowly killing him? The Crusaders said nothing about their Captain's condition, but it was normal because it was Guy who had injured Robin.
He ate everything he was given, although the food was bad and tasteless. They usually brought him some bread and a bowl of broth and bullion. He noticed that he was always thirsty in the hot climate. He had never known such thirst before, as though his tongue had grown to twice its normal size, filling his mouth with its swelling. He drank water in gigantic amounts, and the guards laughed at him.
The air was shining in the beams of the morning sun, and in the faint light that penetrated into his cell, Guy opened his eyes at the sound of the voices near him, shuddering and cold. He shifted his body on the straw mattress and lifted himself into the sitting position.
The sight of the guards recalled Guy from the world of his thoughts back to reality; he composed his face and didn't flinch under their cold, hard gazes. He recognized and the Earl of Leicester. Looking at the huge blonde Norman knight, Guy realized that the younger man should have been the well-known Legrand. There was no Vaisey's spy among them.
Holding a large pile of parchments in his arms, Legrand gazed down at the prisoner for a moment without betraying the slightest emotion, expecting the man to shudder in every limb and stunned by Guy's composure. Guy cast a sidelong glance at Legrand and suddenly laughed, impressed by the gigantic size and the physical shape of his chief jailor. Baffled, Legrand only raised his eyebrow and stood mute before Guy. After a long silence, Legrand uttered a cry of irritation and gave the prisoner a scornful look, and this time Guy looked around at the King's men.
"Let's begin the interrogation," Legrand said in Norman-French.
Guy remained a moment silent and pensive, hardly knowing what to think of the half-cruelty, half-scorn, with which the giant stared at him.
"Who are you? Who hired you to kill King Richard?" Legrand demanded, turning over a pile of papers, containing information regarding the attempted regicide of King Richard.
"What is your name?" the Earl of Leicester asked calmly.
"Your age?" Legrand continued. "Where were you born?"
"Who hired you?" Leicester pressed on, his tone still calm in spite of deep loathing he felt for Guy.
"Did you come here to kill Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon and the Captain of the Private Guard? Why do you hate Robin?" Legrand rubbed his cheek, his expression angry.
"You arrived in Acre to assassinate both King Richard and Robin of Locksley." The Earl of Leicester was not sorry to make that inquiry, which sounded more like an accusation.
The question about Robin made Guy tremble all over, and he gave Legrand a long, searching look. Legrand smiled at Guy as they realized that the prisoner understood their language. Guy heard a scornful laugh resounding from the depths of the interrogators' chests.
Leicester laughed. "It proves that you, my dear masked Saracen, understand everything we are talking about. You are playing deaf and dumb but you hear and understand us."
"It is clear that this wretched man understands everything," Legrand continued with resolute sharpness. "He simply keeps silent, mocking us and thinking of a way to outwit us."
Guy burst into a fit of laughter, and they gazed at him in utter astonishment. They didn't know that Guy didn't think of how to outwit them and was really frightened. His current predicament frightened him so much that he opened his mouth to scream at them, demanding them to leave him in his cell, but the sound immediately died in his throat. Something pushed him to keep silent and reject a slim chance to save his life; fear paralyzed his entire being.
"Sir nobody, tell us who hired you to kill King Richard and whether you also wanted to kill Robin of Locksley," Legrand demanded harshly. "Tell us if you are not a madman."
"Pardon me, my masked friend, if I disturb you in the solitude of your cell, which you seem to have grown so fond of," the Earl of Leicester addressed to the prisoner, with an ironical expression of the eye, and a frightful smile. "I warn you that we will learn everything, and if you say nothing, you will pay a much higher price for your silence than a death by hanging."
The light was so faint in the cell that the interrogators couldn't notice the pallor that spread itself over the Guy's visage and the nervous heaving of his chest and shoulders. Silence prevailed and the prisoner refused to talk, while Legrand and Leicester gazed intently at Guy.
"You refuse to talk and cooperate, don't you?" Legrand questioned irritably.
Leicester grinned. "He doesn't understand how serious his situation is." He looked down at the man who lay on the thin straw mattress. "Hey, assassin, you are not at home or at the royal court. This is the prison, and you attempted regicide but you failed thanks to Robin. Do you understand the mess you dragged yourself into?"
Guy stared straight into Leicester's eyes, and then he turned away. He was still silent and stared straight ahead like one overwhelmed with a strange and amusing thought.
Legrand was equally angry and irritated. "This man is playing with fire. He doesn't know what we can do to him if he continues being so persistent and so foolish."
There was silence between them for a moment, and then they talked about Guy without intermission for several minutes. Afraid of hearing his own history as they had already guessed even his true nationality, Guy shuddered despite trying to look calm. Legrand said that they would torture Guy if he didn't confess. He sighed with relief when Leicester and Legrand left his cell.
It was a Guy-centric chapter. Guy's fever broke, and his life is no longer in grave danger. He is recovering and is being interrogated by the King's men, but he keeps silent, not knowing what to do. In the next chapter, you will learn whether Robin will survive or will die in fever.
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