Gisborne: Book of Pawns (2 page)

In addition,
Moncrieff Castle
was considered a well-appointed
and comfortable place because my
mother
filled it with acquisitions from Aquitaine, my fathe
r’s purse strings always open. But its singular most remarkable claim on my affections was its position in the middle of a lake. My father had the habit of calling my mother his Lady of the Lake after the spirit in the legend of Arthur the King and I loved the mysterious nature of such a title.

When I turned twelve, Mama
sent me to Aquitaine to join
my Cazenay cousins in the belief the sophistication of the courts would add a sparkle to my charm and the chance of an advantageous liaison. Ensconced in an eyrie-like bastion
that hung on the edge of white ravines,
I enjoyed the
atmosphere, but
whilst I became educated in the courtly style, I miss
ed the pale colours of my home –
the mystic trees and reed-frilled fens, the
forests that wrapped around and whispered legends in my ear and the lake on which the swans and I would float.

Despite such longings, at fifteen I was
as polished as I could be and becoming objectionable.
By twenty, and st
ill in Aquitaine, I was bored. Worse, I was unmarried. My father had dallied with possible marriage settlements but he had hardly been diligent, losing interest if any complication arose. Meetings with suitors were arranged but no son nor their father
would have me because I was sharp, opinionated and as accomplished as all of them at
hawking and poetry … even gambling. Worse, I could shoot a bow better than any of them and I suspect they felt emasculated. So I was every man’s best friend but most assuredly not a
lover
nor likely mother of children and my Papa seemed unworried.

My mother? Ah, she despaired.

‘My beautiful Ysabel,’ she would say. ‘Can you be a little less outspoken, a little more accommodating?’

Each year she
would arrive at the beginning of the English winter and she would find her da
ughter a little more refined.
At eighteen, I was concerned when an ague kept her
at Moncrieff.
At nineteen, I fretted that a further ai
lment prevented her annual sojourn. At twenty, the hateful
messenger’s packet
arrived and my life changed in the time the heart takes to beat once.

Cazenay
’s skies did not weep f
or me as I left.
The
blinding
blue stretched as far as the eye
could see and the white cliff walls of
southern Aq
uitaine intensified the glare. I did not cry either
but my handmaid, Marais, sniffed until I told her to desist.

‘It’s like the Holy Land,’ Gisborne
grumbled as we headed away, by which I presume he meant the heat of the south.

I confess I too was hot and took no ti
me when we took halted at one point
, in removing my
overgown, rolling it and shoving it in a bag on my saddle. I wore just my kirtle, revealing bare
arms as I
lifted my hair into a
plaited
coronet on
top of the head
away from a
sweat coated neck.

‘You have been there?’ I enquired.

‘No,’ Gisborne answered. ‘But I know it’s hot as Hades and it may be part of my plan to..
.
’

Being hot made me testy and so I leaped in.

‘Why
must all men feel they should go to the Outremer as a rite of passage.
Why is it necessary to kill a Saracen befo
re you can call yourself a man?’

‘You do not believe in the Christian fight then?’

‘I do not.
What right d
o we have to tramp men of an alternate
belief into th
e ground?
It is not something
my
G
od would ask of His believers.
Of that I am sure.’

‘Then you think King Henry
was wrong?’

‘I do and I have no doubt
Queen
Eleanor
t
hought the same after she saw Jerusalem for herself when she was Louis’ consort.’

I pushed back a stray lock of hair
and noticed Guy looking at my bare arm.

‘In the
time I have been at Cazenay,’ I continued, ‘
I have met traveling Saracens
who are erudite, great healers and
men of learning that
make us look like primitives.
But what hope do we women have of stopp
ing such madness as a crusade.
Men are
plain
stupid sometimes,’ I added with just enough disrespect to make a point.

‘As
are women
with
bare arms and uncovered heads who parade before men. Lady, for myself I don’t mind.
But we have men at arms wit
h us who may not be so couth.’

He expre
ssion
cool
ed the air.
Nothing like the man I had met yesterday and who had opened a door for me to a new life away from
Aquitaine
and
who had
heated my skin like a ray of southern sun.

I sighed with no attem
pt at concealing my petulance.

‘Oh for heavens’ sake.
I am showing no more than their own mothers and wives show in the fields
and I am familiar with half of them – they are Moncrieff men who have known me from the cradle.
’

‘Without doubt,’ he
replied in a superior manner.
‘But you are nobility and should act accordingly.’

I turned to see if he was se
rious and God help me he was.
His face had not a vestig
e of a smile.
I could not contain
myself and burst out laughing.

‘My memory of Moncrieff
such as it is, is that the nobility create the
ir own rules as they go along.
Today’s bad taste cou
ld be tomorrow’s new fashion.’ Then I added as an after
tho
ught, ‘Rather like a crusade.’

To
which his mouth gave a twitch
.

‘You
make your point, Lady Ysabel.
But let me say, the attitudes of Aquitaine have b
een your life for eight years.
You may have forgotten w
hat England is like.
There is a stiff decorum in the houses of the nobility
with whom you will associate. It is best you acclimatize yourself to that fact before you reach Moncrieff.
It
would not do to upset your father
.’

I felt put upon.

‘So I have spent eight years learning to be something which will not suit England when I could have been back in Moncrieff being truly happy.’

Our horses jogged a little and
conversation became difficult but
my calf rub
bed
against G
isborne’s and our stirrups clinked.
I pushed my mare apart althoug
h I would have been happy to be alongside for a while longer.
I tried not to analyse what this man aroused
in me
and
to merely enjoy our jousting. There was sharpness, as if a blade could sigh too close to my neck and the danger thrilled me.

As our horses settled, he commented.
‘Perhaps both your parents thought you would marry in Aquitaine and it would thus be time well spent.’

‘Marry any of those precious poets?’
My voice h
ad lifted and I laughed again.
‘
Jesu sir, songs and chivalry are all very well
but I crave to marry a
man
.’

My mare had jogged ahead again and all I heard from behind was a very low, ‘Indeed.’

Thus we debated and discussed for three days on the road and
as we talked, I felt I came to know t
he man a little more each day.
The erudition
of this mere steward surprised me.
He talked of
the
Y Cynfeirdd
of Wales and the
Fomoire
of Ireland, legends about people with strange names
that I could barely wrap my tongue around.
We talked of illuminated manuscripts and
I told him of my admiration for the church scribes. In all, I was curious that he knew so much.
He even quoted poetry written by Prince Richard during his times in Aquitaine.
I was beyond grateful that he kept my grief at bay because I was afraid the weight of it would undo me.

During one of our nightly encampments, Marais
and I sat under a canopy the escort had rigged for us. I watched Gisborne
moving among the men with assurance and with an air of command
that seemed to come naturally.
It was not quite dark and being mild, he worked in a chemise, strapping his horse with wads of gr
ass and chatting with the men.
He towered over the escort and I could see the width of his shoulder as he dragged the twisted grass over
the sweat marks on his mount.
Marais muttered about her own saddle sores but I allowed h
er complaint to drift over me.
And the
n Gisborne turned and our eyes met.
His gaze held mine and I could not help my lips curving slightly before I lowered my head and fl
icked grass seeds from my hem.

But
I knew
as sure as the moon would rise that night th
at a thread existed between us.
It mig
ht be fine and breakable but
I still had six weeks left
to encourage its strengthening, despite the fact that I mourned a mother. I thought on her and wished I could talk with her about men, about what I might expect and what they might desire. But it was too late and how I regretted it, because that spark as Gisborne and I parried our comment back and forth was a pleasure that had fast become a craving.

The next day I noticed Gisborne
had change
d the formation of our troupe.
He placed two men at arms in the front, two on e
ither side of Marais and myself
and he
and two others
brought
up the rear.
I looked back at him but he avoided my glance as he gave the order to move out.

What had
I done wrong the night before?
Perhaps I really did need my mother’s aid and experience.
I recalled
smiling at him as it grew dark
but I
didn’t recollect that I was unlady
like or fal
se.
And yet now he avoided
me as if I were plague-ridden.
And I couldn’t
even see him as he rode behind.
I knew he would be watching me, how could he not when our horses were practically nose to rum
p, but I did not behave in an unseemly fashion.
I remained quiet and only s
poke intermittently to Marais.

I could barely manage the next two days w
hich proved long and tiresome; I was sick of my own company
let alone that of Marais who w
hinged about her homesickness.
How tantalising had be
en the brief foray into more refined conversation with my escort.
Now I just had the whining of my maidservant in my ear like the drone of a mosquito in the m
iddle of a hot summer’s night.

Our travelling pace was geared to
Marais’ equestr
ian skills which were limited. She rode a wide-girthed and very seasoned mare but I chafed to make speed and Marais’ unhappy progress annoyed me. Without her,
I would have encouraged the men to make haste and we would have been in Le Havre
or Calais in half the time,
ready to find
a ship and some good weather.

I knew instantly tha
t I must rid myself of her before
we reached the co
ast. She belonged at Cazenay because she would moulder and w
ither in the dampness of the fens and the s
hade of the Moncrieff forests. As soon as was politic, I would ask Gisborne
to arrange safe return for
her
and I w
ould continue on un-chaperoned
.