Gisborne: Book of Pawns (51 page)

Gisborne?

I swung round but of course Gisborne had been the body slipping past.

William’s father had left.

‘What say you, Brigid?’

William had pulled a dimpled fist free and wrapped it round my finger, dragging it to his mouth as I posed the question.

‘Sir Guy, Lady Ysabel. Not long after we fled, we were waylaid and safeguarded to Mont Hault. We were taken to a modest dwelling with two rooms and a small barn. Peter and our guard, a man called Alfric, slept in the barn and Gwen and I slept in the cottage. It weren’t no better nor worse ‘n anything we had in the village and we were comfortable. We never wanted for pennies, everything was seen to. Presently Ulric arrived and explained it all.’

Ulric. Of course.

It became clear. Ulric had informed Gisborne of the birth of his heir and by doing so had betrayed my wishes. But did I have the right to abuse him for his disloyalty? Perhaps he had seen beyond my skewed emotions to the reality – which was that William needed support that would be far beyond Moncrieff’s villeins to provide.

William stirred, the smile changing as a growl emerged.

‘He’s hungry, is all. Time for him to break his fast,’ Gwen said as she held out her arms.

But Biddy stalled her.

‘P’raps you’d care to feed your son, yourself, my lady.’

William had been fed on goat’s milk through a cloth until they reached Mont Hault but failing to thrive and desperate at his sinking state, Biddy feared for his life. She had the sense to seek out a wetnurse in the hope he would turn away from a fast approaching demise.

‘The little beggar did,’ she said. ‘Slowly fer sure, but improving nevertheless.’

But he was a desultory feeder and as soon as she thought he was healthy enough to cope, she began again with bread in goat’s milk and honey or bread soaked in potage, giving him a little camomile and lemon balm infusion to ease any distrait. He progressed well to the chubby child who sat before me, propped on pillows. I soaked a crust in milk and honey now and enjoyed the gummy smile as he sucked and then experimented with those ridiculous teeth, reaching with a star-shaped hand to hold the crust himself.

After, Gwen and Brigid having gone with Mother Mercia to break their own very late fast, I sat William on the floor on the coverlet, giving him a smooth wooden wristlet Biddy had passed to me. He leaned his body to the side, pushed on his arms and settled himself as if to crawl, rocking back and forth and discussing life in some infantile tongue for which I had no translation. He continued his little
carole,
dancing to his own tune and with some transparent partner, and I took joy in his infancy, feeling awe and love in one.

‘You called him William.’

I had not heard him return, so wrapped was I in watching the innocence.

‘The name came to me as I gave birth.’

Gisborne sat on a coffer and I looked from he to his son; the likeness was remarkable, even in a child so young, and a perverse part of me was glad that there was no denying the child
was
a Gisborne.

‘Why did you not tell me?’

‘You had settled to a forward march, Sir Guy. I would not halt you.’

William had somehow manoeuvred himself close by his father and grasped hold of the
chausses
to pull himself up. His hand found the scabbard and he toyed with it.

‘This is
my
child,’ Gisborne said as his hand slid over the top of William’s head. I was surprised to note the pain in his voice.

‘I … as I said, you made your choices, I made mine.’

‘Jesu, Ysabel. Then tell me, did you know you were with child when you wedded the baron?’

The questions! How I hated them.

‘Yes.’

‘And yet knowing the dire nature of the man, you went ahead and risked not just your life, but my son’s!’

William sank to the floor on his belly, his little bottom in the air, falling asleep almost immediately.

‘I remind you of the King’s decree.’

‘Ah yes. The King, your infamous god-brother.’

‘And your liegelord, sir. Besides,’ I added sourly. ‘It was never intended for William to stay at Moncrieff after his birth. Look at him, he is hardly a minted image of the baron. There was a plan…’

Through the terse discussion, William slept on, obviously to the tension between his parents.

‘Ysabel,’ Guy’s tone changed on an instant. ‘What prevents you from acknowledging me on any level?’

Oh yes, Ysabel, what? Pride?

I had not been proud of any answer thus far. Everything smacked of the spoiled child of the nobility that Gisborne was forced to escort from Cazenay a lifetime ago. But I was ever spontaneous in my replies and now was little different. Insecurity wreaks its own response.

‘Old Jewry!’ I spat. ‘And your kinship with Halsham who is De Courcey’s man.’

‘Old Jewry?’

Again an incredulous tone but his customary body language, that rigidity, was held in check by his son lying at his booted toes.

‘You were there. What role did
you
play? Firelighter, murderer?’

I swear if William was not curled on the floor between us, Gisborne might have shaken me till my eyeballs rattled. His fists curled on themselves and I sat straighter, hugging my cloak closer.

‘No role beyond challenging your husband to desist before knocking him out with the flat of my sword and …
discip
lin
ing
his men at arms after I had discovered them torching a rabbi’s house and with the family inside like bread in an oven. Does that satisfy you perhaps? And then arguing with the King himself that the perpetrators in London and York, of whom a number were De Courcey’s own, be tried for murder and hung. But our King ever has his eye on the main chance, and with a Crusade in the offing he needs fighting men.’ He took a breath, his voice wrathful. ‘Is
that
the answer you wanted?’

All at once I just wanted to give in and so I shrugged and reached down to stroke William’s little bottom.

‘Ysabel.’

The way he said my name provoked such a bodily surge I felt humiliated it happened within one of God’s houses.

‘Please. You
must
leave. Take our son. It is more perilous daily.’

Tears began to well but I would not cry. ‘It’s a mess, is it not?’ I said in a trembling voice.

He stood and walked across to me, holding his hand out. I placed my palm in his and the feel of his skin on mine was another memory so that when I stood and raised my eyes to his, I remembered two naked bodies and the making of an heir.

A rap at the door caused an expletive to hiss out as Gwen’s face appeared.

‘Wondered if you want us to take little Wills, my lady.’

I found that I could laugh, the highly charged moment quenched.

‘Wills? Yes, Gwen. You may take Master Wills and see to him but you must bring him to me the minute he wakes. I would not lose any more moments with him.’

We watched our son lifted into willing arms, not a stir from the floppy little soul, and then we were alone.

‘If I get some clothes for you, will you walk?’

Clothes? Is it not what you do for me always, Gisborne?

‘Why break the habit of a lifetime, Sir Guy?’

I softened the irony with a smile.

One plain dun-coloured
bliaut
and one even plainer girdle later, I was climbing behind Gisborne up the far side of the waterfall the Welsh called
linn
and
which was the
psaltery
-sound of the Alyn as it tumbled – a charming place, a pretty resonance, rocks and a tranquil pond up high and further back from the overflow.

Suitable for talking.

‘I knew you the moment you walked into my chamber at Locksley.’

I had stripped off boots and hose, rolled the gown to my knees and thrust my legs into the crystalline shallows. The sun shone and it warmed me through as if it were love.

‘Then why did you not say?’

‘I deal in subterfuge, Ysabel. You worked hard at disguising your voice, you had coloured your hair and you carried a severe wound. I would say you were hiding and wished not to be found. You knew who
I
was. As I said, if you wanted my help, you would surely have indicated it. Thus it was enough to keep a wary eye…’

‘But you encouraged me to stay on, knowing the Devil’s friends were coming.’

‘It was a massive risk. But I could better protect you close by than away.’

All the while he spoke, he sat with distance between us and I could not read him – Jesu, but he was a man of secrets.

‘A risk that failed,’ I replied.

‘Not if you hadn’t run. My staff are loyal to a man and would never have betrayed you. Unfortunately you were seen by Halsham’s squire as you fetched the mare. It was a matter of moment for them to put everything together. Unfortunately they play the game of secrets almost as well as I.’

‘Do they know you help me?’

He didn’t answer, but dropped his head and grimaced.

‘Oh God! How much could we have avoided by truths? Methinks we might both be at fault.’

I rubbed at the stitches.

‘Does it hurt?’ He leaned over and eased my fingers away.

I demurred for a moment, then, ‘No, but the memory does.’

‘Tell me,’ he said softly.

So I did. In awful detail, finding I cried a little. He held me, a movement as natural as holding one’s child and the water played its odd melody and birds sang and that moment was God-given. One to be cherished.

‘Like I said, Ysabel, it is a war wound. A battle with the Devil and you won.’ He bent and kissed around the scar. ‘Tis like kissing a hedgehog.’

‘Then perhaps you kiss the wrong part of me,’ I hazarded.

‘Perhaps,’ he replied.

How does making love happen without one noticing the progressions? A moment and he was kissing my lips. Then we were unclothed and in the water where I could see every part of his lean and muscled frame. His long legs wrapped around me and drew me in, his arms sliding around my back. My hips met his like someone craving water in the desert. His hand gently parted my thighs drawing my legs around him.

‘
They say
in Ireland, that
the lovers’ knot has an unbroken shape, that it simply winds in and out, over and under in perpetuity, and that is forever how I remember the intertwining shape
of this
day of days
as Guy of Gisborne and I, Ysabel of Moncrieff, made love.
’

I wondered if making love is any different to loving. Does it mean the same thing? For a man it can be merely one moment’s pleasure, but for a woman, the bodily act might signify a lifetime’s commitment. Once I said to Gisborne,
‘Don’t regret this’
and I thought I could say now with a little confidence that he did not. But then would I ever really know what the King’s secret servant felt?

We dried in the sun, not worrying about life until I heard William’s distant cry, lusty and angry, and dragged on my clothes before Gisborne could react.

‘He cries,’ I muttered.

‘He demands,’ Guy laughed pushing away thoughts of the times to come. ‘He is my son.’

We hurried back, worries away, but when we spotted Ulric, Peter and Mother Matilda in a tense conclave, it was obvious my past was catching up.

‘They are in Mont Hault,’ said Ulric.

No!

‘And they head to the priory. Money pays for loose tongues.’

Gisborne pushed in from behind me.

‘Horses and provisions?’

‘Ready,’ said Peter as Mother Mercia dashed back through the gates.

‘Then get moving.’ He turned to me and grabbed my hands. ‘We leave, Ysabel. There is a plan so rest easy, but you must ride and keep riding, no matter what.’

‘With you?’ I held onto his hands tightly as if a thread would snap if I let go and he nodded but turned when he heard Peter and Ulric running back with readied horses that followed willingly, ears pricked, eyes bright.

Gwen and Brigid arrived with Mother Mercia, William crowing with delight at the horses.

‘He’s fed and happy,’ said Brigid unnecessarily. She was a staunch thing, Biddy. She knew we all faced death now and it wasn’t written anywhere on her face.

My heart pounded, taking up its old anxious rhythm as we mounted.

‘Away!’ warned Guy. ‘We must make haste to the cover of the trees.’

‘Gisborne,’ I clicked my horse close to him and reached over, touching my palm to the stubbled cheek. ‘Stay close. I would not lose my son’s father…’