Gisborne: Book of Pawns (39 page)

The following week at Westminster, on the third of September, 1189 Anno Domini Iesu Christi, Richard was crowned King of England. To celebrate, my villagers had a day of feasting and bonfires, Brother John holding a service of blessing and Saint Agatha’s bell ringing cheerfully on and off throughout the day. I wandered in and out of the small crowd wishing Ceci was with me, that we could share the roasted pig, fresh cooked fish and the eel pies with each other and with Ulric, that we could laugh at the children playing hide-a-seek and we could huff on the hot crisp pastry of an apple pie. Instead I was accompanied by Gwen dressed in a cut down
bliaut
of my mother’s, and who cast blushing glances at Peter, the blacksmith’s son.

I watched with envy and interest, wondering why my own parents had not betrothed me to some ordinary but acceptable noble at an early age, thus avoiding this terrible heartache. Pointless to wonder. I was married to a baron who held the King’s ear. Short of him dying in an unforeseen circumstance, I could only watch Gwen vicariously.

A week or more after, an encoded note arrived from Ulric, telling me of a dreadful event in London at the coronation banquet. It seemed that a number of the nobility were superstitious of the Jewish merchants who came to do homage to their new monarch. Whisper and accusation spread like a plague and within a short space of time, Jews within Old Jewry were attacked and burned in their homes. Ulric made mention of the lack of punishment for the offenders and I remembered what Gisborne had said about De Courcey, that he would commit murder and go to a banquet afterward and I knew without fear of correction that my erstwhile baron had been at the forefront of such appalling misdeeds in the knowledge that he would be entirely protected by the King’s goodwill. The despair that I should be connected with such a brute darkened the day. The fear that came with it darkened the night.

Not so many days after the sickening note, horses, shouting and a horn could be heard approaching the lake. The early autumn day was beset with mists and drizzle and the light was half-hearted. I ran to the window with Gwen to see who approached and grasped my small bulge as I saw the De Courcey pennants. My husband led a group of a dozen men across the causeway and into the bailey and my heart jumped and dived. I sat on the edge of my seat composing myself, draping the folds of the brown
bliaut
in such a way as to camouflage the size of the bump.

‘Gwen, the chain!’

Ulric, why did you not tell me he was coming?

Gwen dug in the coffer by the window, the chain rattling like a spectre’s warning, and I hastily thrust it round my body just below breasts that were becoming full and motherly. The topaz gems sat over the folds, a display that would surely please the Baron and give me a moment’s reprieve.

The door crashed open and he strode in, his colouring fire and brimstone and tinged with a harsh ruddy flush.

‘How now, Ysabel, mother of my child…’ He grabbed me and pulled me up. ‘Lord but you are expanding.’

He ran his hand over the front of the gown
in a proprietorial way and I gritted my teeth, thinking of hands that had lit fires in London.

‘But damned if you don’t look good with it.’

‘It often happens that a woman grows rapidly. Then again, perhaps I brew two babes. There are twins in Cazenay. And yes, I am well although prone to decrepit tiredness and the odd pain. I hope it will pass.’

There were of course no twins in my family but I was becoming an accomplished liar and he was so full of his prowess at siring a child in a mere strike or two that I could see he would listen to anything. I just hoped he would not be violent, not again, and I tried hard not to upset him.

‘One child ha, maybe two!
These
are my
heirs
.’ Initial joy lasted but a moment as his eyes hardened. ‘By the Saints, wife, if I do not hear that you mind yourself or that the staff do not mind you, there shall be a price to pay.’

‘Then it is as well that I am cared for. The servants, your men included, have been pillars of support. The demesnes runs well. The harvest has been got in. So you see my Lord De Courcey, I wonder why you are come? I presumed the King required your services elsewhere.’

‘He does and I have already served him well. I am here to see my wife and to gather the rest of the men. Richard is to begin seeking funds for a crusade and we are to bolster his forces.’

‘You think he shall need force amongst his own people?’

‘He is unsure how his barons will react and believes the Free Lancers shall be an incentive.’

Force?

‘For how long shall you be here? I will make sure the food supplies are adequate.’

I moved to leave but he grabbed my hand, his eyes filled with a look I had grown to despise.

‘A night and a day only – enough time for the rest of the force to arm and prepare. I have told the bailiff to organize food for us.’ He pulled me into his arms roughly, his fingers pinching. ‘By the saints, Ysabel, I want you.’ I could feel his manhood hard against my stomach and begged God to help me. ‘But…’ he pushed me away. ‘It seems I must not. I shall have sons madame, I am sure, and nothing, not even my rights, shall threaten their being. They shall be the sons of a kingmaker.’

He spoke with sickening grandeur and for one ghastly moment I had a window into a frightening future.

Kingmaker.

It was what I had deduced so long ago.

Kingmaker, kingbreaker.

Gwen shifted in the corner, Sorcia squirming out of her arms and running to me. I bent and picked her up and De Courcey glanced at her.

‘A hound, Ysabel, and like to be huge. Hardly the dog for a Lady Chamber.’

‘She is a good bitch from Eodmund’s litter and will add fine blood to your own.’

But his eyes had drifted from the dog to Gwen and the glance was filled with thickly scented interest.

‘And this is?’

‘Gwen. Since you sent Cecilia back to Upton, I have felt in need of help. A girl from the village will suit my needs as the months move on.’

‘Gwen.’ He walked around her, his eyes on her young breasts and formative hips. ‘Your father?’

‘Died protecting the Lady Ysabel in Anjou, my lord.’

You angel child! You lie as well as me.

Gwen knew, I could tell. More worldly wise than me at the same age, of course she knew what her liege-lord was about and sought to placate him.

‘Then you are welcome in my house, Gwen.’

His voice had softened to silk and I hoped Gwen would use her wits. If not, placating him could take a whole other course entirely.

‘Oh!’ I grabbed at my lower back and sank onto a settle.

De Courcey turned back, his eyes dark with something nasty.

‘What ails you?’

Untruths!

‘Back pain. Gwen, run to your mother and ask her to come to me with her herbals. When she leaves, you must take the youngsters to your aunt’s.’

She bobbed and dashed out. There was no aunt nor siblings and I prayed for sharp little Gwen to go where she could not be found. I prayed also that a good meal and plenty of ale and wine might dull the Baron’s excesses. And there were always Gwen’s mother’s herbs.

I drugged him.

The herbs for my so-called back-pain were nothing but the extract of poppy. Brother John had directed me to Gwen’s mother on witnessing my post-marital bruising, saying she had experience with herbs and had helped the sick and needy at times.

‘She will give you a drug to feed into his drink when you want to avoid him, my child. I will not see the daughter of Joffrey so treated. He is an animal.’

And so I placed the drops in his ale and by the end of the meal, he lay with his head on a half eaten trencher. I ordered two of the brawny men I had come to know to carry him to the Master Chamber and I passed a more comfortable night in the knowledge Gwen and I would be left alone.

He departed in a foul temper next day. He snarled at me to mind his heirs, squeezing my arm, and I bit my tongue so as not give him pleasure in my pain. He almost kicked Sorcia but I grabbed her as his booted foot was drawn back. He knocked his squire down when a chainmail vest was misplaced, the fellow hitting his head and bleeding. He yelled to the bailiff that the bushel yield from the harvest must exceed last year’s else his position would be forfeit. And when his horse reared on being mounted, he raked his spurs along the animal’s sides leaving bloody scores.

Moncrieff seethed as the men mingled and mounted, forming into lines. They clattered out two by two leaving the castle with a guard of six men-at-arms and peace.

I watched until the noise of horses and men faded on the air. Till the honk of bird and bleat of sheep sounded, until harshness was replaced with poultry pecking at worms disturbed in the bailey’s soil, Sorcia barking at a cat, children chasing the pigeons that flew up with a flacking of wings to settle on the corbels of the walls. It was then I finally took a breath of wonder as my child quickened inside me, a butterfly touch so that I rubbed the mound and thanked God and the Saints that we were left behind and that De Courcey, God rot his soul, was heading in the opposite direction.

Straight away I hurried to my chamber and wrote two notes – one to Cecilia begging her to come. The other to my despised husband saying that in view of my apparent discomfort and his interest in the care of the mother of his offspring, it seemed sensible to secure the cosseting companionship of my godmother.

Thus the months passed – Cecilia, young Gwen and Brother John … my triumvirate. All guarded by an alarmingly large Sorcia. There was enough barley and wheat from the harvest to be distributed amongst the villagers and by judicious numbering of the bushels in the records De Courcey would never know. Livestock fattened through the summer was butchered and salted for the winter, autumn fruits provided just enough to sweeten our appetites. We had no real need of complaint. Apart from my name, my condition, and the introduction of the six men-at-arms, it seemed Gwen said, as if nothing had changed at Moncrieff in years.

Cecilia’s company was a boon beyond all expectation as the cold set in and snow fell. We walked, our feet in pattens and Ceci holding me tightly in case I should fall. I met the villagers, visiting in an ox and cart, and sat quietly talking to Ceci about Alaïs and Joffrey, paying respect to them once weekly and laying wreaths on their tomb. I told Cecilia about Ulric’s code, and his notes continued to arrive by devious means … a relics pedlar, a pilgrim, a returned soldier travelling west.

But I knew the day a thick encoded packet arrived, that it contained something vital.

Cecilia was looking at me as someone knocked at the chamber door.

‘Ysabel, you are so big and the child hangs so low, it’s as well that excuse for a baron is not here. You are fit to burst, my child.’

‘My legs and back ache with the weight of it, Ceci, and if I am right I think I only have days to go and us yet with no plan.’ I arched my back and called ‘Come.’

The fire flared as the door opened, the flames dipping and diving.

Gwen slipped in.

‘My lady, a merchant has passed this to you. He is even now with Brother John.’

‘Then let us hope Brother John shall thaw out the poor man’s feet and prevail upon him to put aside his wretched travels until the snow clears. It is a God forsaken freeze outside.’

Cecilia growled. She hated the cold, her bones aching and her blood sluggish; another reason to be away from Upton which lay on a bleak hill in the middle of wind-scoured moorland.

I held the heavy packet in my hand, gazing at how it was folded upon itself and I thought back to the very advent of the turn my life had taken and the package of death that I had opened on that day … the hours before I met Guy of Gisborne.

We all of us lose family – it is the natural course of life, but I think I had ached with it for months now, grieving in fits and starts. Just once I would have liked to cry and be heart-sore without pretensions to strength. I don’t even recall flinging myself into Ceci’s arms and wailing when I saw her that day Gisborne and I slipped from the passage, nothing but the odd quiet tear and an unconscious urge to dig deep for something to anchor me. I think it was the child that sustained me now – that giant bulge that put pressure on my spine and made me realize I
had
a supporting backbone.

My finger slipped under the fold held down by the hated De Courcey seal, flicking the crumbling wax apart. The parchment trembled, as there was something of the troubadour’s Death Roll in the air. De Courcey’s death or Gisborne’s, my heart quailed for alternate reasons. I watched the wax segments crack and flutter to the floor like aged petals.

‘It is from Ulric,’ I breathed with relief. ‘Shall I read it?’

‘Of course, Ysabel, and for God’s sake sit, you’re quite pale.’

I subsided onto a coffer. ‘It will take me time to decipher, so have patience.’

I spoke more to give myself a moment than anything.

‘He has a good hand and should surely be an excellent steward for someone so much more noble than De Courcey. He begins with the usual…’ I tapped the page, skipping over the opening pleasantries. ‘He says …
You would find the costume
s
of court a wonder to behold in winter, my lady. I have never seen such thi
ck velvets nor so many extravagant furs
but the women are ugly and as pale as a hardboiled
egg and the men strut like cockerels
…
per
fect company for my lord Baron.
It is
however
impossibl
e not to be awed by His Majesty. H
e is
as
golden and perfect as you would expect a child of
Eleanor of Aquitaine to be
.
Prince John is like a black spider next to a wondrous butterfly by comparison and such an odious man to whom our lord Baron appears to be tying himself.