Fic: To Cozen Fortune - Chapter 2
Title, Chapter: To Cozen Fortune, Chapter 2
Author: roh_wyn
Summary: Guy and Isabella leave Locksley and arrive in France to make a new life for themselves. A pre-series exploration of these two characters and how they become the people we see on the show.
Characters/Pairings: Guy of Gisborne, Isabella, Lambert (of black powder fame), OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for 3x10, "Bad Blood"; possible (but inadvertent) fudging of canon timeline
Disclaimer: Robin Hood belongs to Tiger Aspect, BBC and legend. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Notes: Many thanks to applebeing for her excellent beta work. Any errors that remain are mine entirely. Thanks to shinysparks for her amazing artistic contribution. Thanks also to kegel84 who kept me company online as I wrote this story, and to railise and thymelady for helping me with the title.
Artwork by shinysparks
Chapter 2. Christian Soldier
Caën, Normandy
Early October, 1175
The twin spires of St. Stephen's rose out of the ground unexpectedly, as Guy and Isabella arrived in Caen, cresting one of the many hills they had climbed since arriving in France more than a week before.
Isabella huffed as she struggled to catch up. "Are we there now?"
"Almost." Guy watched his sister with a mixture of concern and amusement. It had been a difficult journey, beginning with their inability to find passage on a boat to take them to France. Guy had tried many things, from a failed attempt to sneak onto a merchant vessel to an offer to be the captain's servant, but nothing had worked. In the end, and much to Guy's surprise, it was Isabella who had a plan. She'd spied a well-dressed matronly woman, sobbed out an entire story of how the woman looked exactly like their recently dead mother, and begged to be allowed to travel with her. The woman had been so taken with Isabella that she'd not only paid their passage across the sea, but even given them food for their journey when they made landfall.
Guy had been a little frightened at the ease with which Isabella had manipulated the other woman, but she had shrugged it off. He began to suspect she'd always been like this, that she'd never been an innocent, and he wondered how much she knew of the things that had happened in Locksley. He thought to probe her about these things, but shrunk back, keenly aware he was not prepared for answers that reflected worldliness well past Isabella's ten years. Someday, when she is old enough, I will speak to her properly of all these things.
For the moment, however, Guy had more pressing things on his mind. The gates of St. Stephen's loomed ahead, the hulking mass of the great abbey behind it. Until a few moments before, he'd been completely certain of his plans: they would approach the abbot, who would welcome them with open arms, and everything would simply take care of itself. But now that they were actually at the abbey, at the doorstep of their future, Guy wavered. What if the abbot was not there? What if he did not believe Guy's story? What were he and Isabella going to do for the rest of their lives?
Isabella must have sensed his discomfort. She slipped her hand into his and gave him a worried look. That was enough to spur Guy to action. He was not doing this just for himself, and if he did not at least try to speak to the abbot, his sister would know naught but misery in her life.
He pushed at the door and was surprised to find it locked. The church in Locksley had always been open. He guessed this church was wealthier, and there were probably things the priests would want to safeguard from the common folk. He considered this a wise practice, and it reassured him the church was a serious and important place, the sort of place where a future could be made.
He lifted up the brass knocker, letting it fall back on the wood with an ominous thunk. They waited, Isabella's boots scraping on the flagstone as she shuffled her feet. As the minutes passed and there was no answer, Guy became irritated with the sound she was making and glared at her. He was about to launch into a proper scolding, when the door opened with a creaking groan.
A cowled monk, his face lit only by a guttering candle, stared down at Guy and Isabella.
Guy stepped away from the door, startled by the monk. In the darkness, the monk's face-wizened and partly in the shadows-reminded Guy of every monster in every nightmare he had ever had, and the words that had been on his tongue were chased away by his fear.
He swallowed hard, cleared his throat and tried again, but no words came.
The monk scowled at them. "What do you want?"
"Um, we're-er, can we come in?"
"Church is closed at night, by the abbot's orders. Come back in the morning."
"But-"
The monk narrowed his eyes. "Unless you're claiming sanctuary, of course. Then I have to let you in."
Guy shook his head. "No, we're-"
The monk sighed. "Let me repeat myself. If you ask for sanctuary, I have to let you in."
Guy frowned, reluctant to utter a falsehood so close to God. But Isabella had no such compunction. She stepped in front of Guy and clasped her hands together.
"Yes, we claim sanctuary. We are tired and orphaned and very far from home. We have naught left in the world but God."
The monk seemed unmoved, but he nodded curtly in their direction and waved them into the church and down the nave into the cloisters. The abbey courtyard was dark, and Guy could spy only a sliver of moonlight through the walls and columns that lined the cloisters. The cloisters were lit by torches, but the light receded as they walked across the courtyard, and Guy could not fight off the feeling he was being led to his punishment.
It turned out to be only supper, as the sullen monk led them to the abbey kitchens. The smell of fresh bread wafted down the stone-lined path, and Guy's mouth watered predictably as they made their way into the building.
The monk showed the siblings to a narrow wooden bench along the wall, and another monk, this one rather jolly and welcoming, brought them trenchers and potage. Isabella gave the monk a crooked smile and began to eat. Guy held on to the food for a moment, feeling dishonest but also desperately hungry.
"I'm the kitchener," the jolly monk said. "Brother Rupert." He clucked his tongue. "You look hungry. And tired. Traveling from far?"
Guy hesitated, but decided he would not compound all his sins by lying to a priest. "England."
"Ah. And you've come here for sanctuary?"
At this, Guy cast a glance at the other monk, who was still glaring at them. "Er, yes. We were…orphaned. We had no place to go."
The sullen monk scoffed. "Yes. 'Naught left in the world but God', I believe it was."
Guy felt a sudden rush of irritation at the monk, his attitude, his presumption, even his voice. "Actually, that's not quite true. We're here to see Martin of Lisieux."
Brother Rupert raised an eyebrow in surprise, but the sullen monk smirked. "Oh? Around here, we refer to him as the Lord Abbot, and we do not take his name so plainly."
Guy was taken aback and cursed himself for the impertinence. But he schooled himself to calm and put on his most indifferent expression. "You will excuse me the familiarity, but I'm…his kinsman."
The expression on the sullen monk's face changed abruptly as he absorbed this new information. Brother Rupert took the opportunity to pull his fellow monk aside. As they walked outside to talk, Isabella winked conspiratorially at her brother and leaned her head against the wall, eavesdropping.
Guy was shocked and tried to stop her, but after a moment, he decided it was better to be impolite and aware than well-mannered and ignorant. He sat down next to her and craned his neck to hear better.
The two monks spoke in low whispers, and Guy could only hear snatches of their conversation.
"…pair of urchins!"
"Where have you seen…well-spoken?"
"But the abbot would…
"Let's speak to him about…"
Guy sighed, guessing he'd probably said too much and these two monks were not likely to take him to the abbot, except as some sort of prisoner or sinner. He leaned his head against the wall, feeling defeated. What would they do now? Where would they go? Dark thoughts came to him, and he tried in vain to dispel them.
But just as despair was about to take over, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Brother Rupert, who gave him a friendly smile.
"It is much too late to see the Lord Abbot today, you understand."
Guy nodded, grateful for the interruption, although he noted with dismay that Rupert had promised nothing.
The monk handed him a pair of ragged blankets. "The two of you can stay here, in the kitchens. I'll have someone bring you a warming stone in a while."
As he turned to leave, Guy called out to him. "And tomorrow? Can we see the abbot tomorrow?"
"I think it's best to leave tomorrow for tomorrow. I wish you a good night."
--
The kitchen fires had long since gone out, and Guy pulled the threadbare blanket closer around himself, trying to find a comfortable spot on the cold stone floor. In the distance, he could hear the plaintive chanting of the monks at matins, reminding him it was almost morning. He leaned over and nudged Isabella awake. It was best if they woke early in the day. If the abbot would not see them, or if he could not help them, they would need to get back on the road early, especially since Guy had no idea where they would go from here.
Isabella rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and glared at him. "It's too early."
Guy shrugged. "It's too cold to sleep. And we'll need to wash and be ready."
She shook her head. "They won't let us see him. I can tell."
Guy did not disagree with her, but he held out hope she was wrong, even if she was turning out to be wiser than he'd expected. He took the St. Christopher medallion out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands a few times. "Maybe we'll be lucky this once."
"What will you tell him?" Isabella's voice was soft, but the expression on her face was frank and honest, and Guy knew he owed her a real answer, not just empty reassurance.
"The truth. I'll tell him the truth." Or some version of it that makes sense. The truth, at least in this case, was far less believable than most lies.
Isabella nodded, although she seemed doubtful. Guy watched as she straightened her dress and ran a hand through her disheveled hair, and for the first time, he noticed that she was a rather pretty girl, with wide eyes and pale skin. That knowledge began to worry him, a sharp reminder the stakes were much higher for her, a girl without the protection of wealth or title.
He started to think of what to say to the abbot that would make the best case, but his efforts were interrupted by a loud commotion near the doors. Two novices were shoving each other and yelling, and before he could think better of it, Guy was in the middle, separating the two men as they continued to berate each other.
He shoved one novice away and pinned the other against the wall. "What is wrong with you?"
"Get off me!" The novice pushed himself away from Guy and glared. "He stole my bread. It's all I'm allowed to eat, and he stole it!"
The other novice hissed in protest. "I saw you stuffing your face before. I just don’t want you to break your fast and end up in trouble with the novice master. Again!"
Guy was appalled. "You're going to be monks soon. You can't fight over bread!"
The two novices turned on him. "Oh? And who are you? The new rules master then?" They sneered at Guy in a way that made his blood boil. "Where's your habit, St. Benedict?"
Guy cast about for a clever response, but nothing came to him. Behind him, Isabella cleared her throat pitifully, and he was acutely aware of the shame of being shown up in front of her, and by two unarmed novices at that.
"You look like something they dragged in off the street. Some poor orphan too weak even to beg for his bread at church."
This new insult cut too close for Guy, and he lashed out at them, pulling himself to his full height and nearly punching one of the novices before he was dragged back by his collar.
Brother Rupert set him back on his feet and turned his attention to the two novices. "You two should be ashamed. You're to be men of God soon. You should be preaching peace!" The two novices dropped their heads and shuffled their feet, knowing better than to talk back.
"Off with you, both of you. Naught but water till you learn how to keep your tongues. Out!" He shooed the novices out the door and turned his attention to Guy, clucking his tongue.
"I'm sorry," Guy mumbled, cutting off the expected scolding. "I don't know what came over me."
The monk narrowed his eyes at Guy and regarded him intently for a few minutes before shrugging and patting him gently on the shoulder. "I saw what happened. We'll just say you were grievously provoked, shall we? Meanwhile, you're probably hungry. Let's get you some food before you meet the Lord Abbot."
"So we will get to see him then?"
Brother Rupert chuckled. "Oh, yes. After news of you nearly hitting a novice reaches him, I'm certain he'll want to see you!"
--
Guy sat stiffly on the wooden chair, trying not to shuffle his feet or appear nervous. Next to him, Isabella was very still, hands clasped neatly together. But her knuckles were white with the effort, and tension filled the room, hot and thick.
They were in the refectory, where they had been invited to dine with the abbot. At first, Guy had assumed this would be a private meal, but once they'd arrived, it became clear the abbot used meals as a way to meet with important people, and this day was no different. In the room with them were a few wealthy merchants, an older knight and an assortment of well-dressed ladies and gentleman. Guy felt very small and dirty in their presence, and more than once, he wished he could simply excuse himself and run away.
But Brother Rupert had made it clear the abbot rarely met with anyone outside the order and that he was doing them a great honor by giving them an audience, and Guy had not been able to refuse. He had no idea how the monk had managed it, but he had found Guy a clean tunic to wear, and Isabella's threadbare dress had been replaced by a woolen one, plain but sturdy, and she'd been admonished to cover her head in the abbot's presence. Guy thought she looked a bit like a nun, and began to wonder if that was intentional, and whether that would be her future. It might even be mine. The thought was a sobering one, for Guy had no desire to spend his life in cloistered contemplation. But he was keenly aware they had few choices, and he would have to give in to whatever demands were made by the abbot.
The meal eventually wound down, and conversation around Guy dulled to a gentle buzz, as the abbot's guests began to disperse. The man himself still held court, chatting easily with everyone. Guy noted that unlike most well-born men of the Church, he did not wear silk vestments nor did he partake of any of the rich food his guests had been offered. In fact, he was dressed exactly as all the other monks of his order and might have been mistaken for one outside of the abbey.
Guy allowed his mind to wander over the day's events and wondered at how much trouble the morning's fracas with the novices would turn out to be. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he neither heard the abbot's voice as the man approached, nor noticed Isabella's nudging elbow at his ribs.
It was the sound of a chair being dragged across the stone floor that finally caught his attention, and when Guy looked up, it was into the bright blue eyes of Martin of Lisieux.
Guy rushed to his feet, pulling Isabella up with him. He bowed his head and spoke as politely as he had been trained to do. "My lord abbot. Thank you for your hospitality."
The abbot sat down and regarded Guy through steepled fingers. "Brother Rupert tells me you were part of a…disturbance, shall we say?"
Guy said nothing, choosing to nod and not get himself into further trouble.
The abbot chuckled. "He also tells me you've wanted to see me. May I ask why?"
Guy exchanged a quick glance with Isabella and shuffled his feet, making sure he had all the right words before he speak. "We have traveled from very far, my lord. From England, in fact. Just to find you. Er, to speak to you."
"And to what do I owe this honor?" Guy chanced looking straight at the abbot, and was surprised to find the abbot looked neither angry nor pleased, just amused. Guy took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"I am Guy, the son of Ghislaine, and this is my sister, Isabella. We are your kin."
The expression on Martin's face changed abruptly. "Ghislaine…I have not seen her in years. Not since I was but a young lad."
He frowned. "What has become of her? Of Roger?"
Guy could not meet the abbot's eyes. "She is gone. They both are. There was a fire, and…" The words caught in his throat, choking him. He could not go on, so he settled for twisting his hands together instead.
The abbot seemed equally distraught, and for a few moments, there was nothing but silence in the room. When the abbot spoke again, his voice was subdued. "I see why you are here now." He stood up and gave both Guy and Isabella a studious examination.
He patted Isabella gently on the head. "You have the look of your mother, you know." Abruptly, he embraced the little girl and then held his arms out for Guy as well. Unsure of himself but afraid to disobey, Guy folded himself dutifully into Martin's arms. To his surprise, the embrace was warm, a gesture of welcome, and Guy felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes at this unexpected show of affection.
He pulled out of the abbot's arms and scrubbed his eyes with a sleeve, hoping nobody had seen the tears. "I…I thank you, my lord."
Martin stared at Guy through narrowed eyes. At length, he shook his head. "Think nothing of it. I'm your uncle, and you must learn to trust me."
Guy felt relief wash over him, making him light-headed and dissolving away his fear. I have come home.
--
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Author: roh_wyn
Summary: Guy and Isabella leave Locksley and arrive in France to make a new life for themselves. A pre-series exploration of these two characters and how they become the people we see on the show.
Characters/Pairings: Guy of Gisborne, Isabella, Lambert (of black powder fame), OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for 3x10, "Bad Blood"; possible (but inadvertent) fudging of canon timeline
Disclaimer: Robin Hood belongs to Tiger Aspect, BBC and legend. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money is being made.
Notes: Many thanks to applebeing for her excellent beta work. Any errors that remain are mine entirely. Thanks to shinysparks for her amazing artistic contribution. Thanks also to kegel84 who kept me company online as I wrote this story, and to railise and thymelady for helping me with the title.
Artwork by shinysparks
Chapter 2. Christian Soldier
Caën, Normandy
Early October, 1175
The twin spires of St. Stephen's rose out of the ground unexpectedly, as Guy and Isabella arrived in Caen, cresting one of the many hills they had climbed since arriving in France more than a week before.
Isabella huffed as she struggled to catch up. "Are we there now?"
"Almost." Guy watched his sister with a mixture of concern and amusement. It had been a difficult journey, beginning with their inability to find passage on a boat to take them to France. Guy had tried many things, from a failed attempt to sneak onto a merchant vessel to an offer to be the captain's servant, but nothing had worked. In the end, and much to Guy's surprise, it was Isabella who had a plan. She'd spied a well-dressed matronly woman, sobbed out an entire story of how the woman looked exactly like their recently dead mother, and begged to be allowed to travel with her. The woman had been so taken with Isabella that she'd not only paid their passage across the sea, but even given them food for their journey when they made landfall.
Guy had been a little frightened at the ease with which Isabella had manipulated the other woman, but she had shrugged it off. He began to suspect she'd always been like this, that she'd never been an innocent, and he wondered how much she knew of the things that had happened in Locksley. He thought to probe her about these things, but shrunk back, keenly aware he was not prepared for answers that reflected worldliness well past Isabella's ten years. Someday, when she is old enough, I will speak to her properly of all these things.
For the moment, however, Guy had more pressing things on his mind. The gates of St. Stephen's loomed ahead, the hulking mass of the great abbey behind it. Until a few moments before, he'd been completely certain of his plans: they would approach the abbot, who would welcome them with open arms, and everything would simply take care of itself. But now that they were actually at the abbey, at the doorstep of their future, Guy wavered. What if the abbot was not there? What if he did not believe Guy's story? What were he and Isabella going to do for the rest of their lives?
Isabella must have sensed his discomfort. She slipped her hand into his and gave him a worried look. That was enough to spur Guy to action. He was not doing this just for himself, and if he did not at least try to speak to the abbot, his sister would know naught but misery in her life.
He pushed at the door and was surprised to find it locked. The church in Locksley had always been open. He guessed this church was wealthier, and there were probably things the priests would want to safeguard from the common folk. He considered this a wise practice, and it reassured him the church was a serious and important place, the sort of place where a future could be made.
He lifted up the brass knocker, letting it fall back on the wood with an ominous thunk. They waited, Isabella's boots scraping on the flagstone as she shuffled her feet. As the minutes passed and there was no answer, Guy became irritated with the sound she was making and glared at her. He was about to launch into a proper scolding, when the door opened with a creaking groan.
A cowled monk, his face lit only by a guttering candle, stared down at Guy and Isabella.
Guy stepped away from the door, startled by the monk. In the darkness, the monk's face-wizened and partly in the shadows-reminded Guy of every monster in every nightmare he had ever had, and the words that had been on his tongue were chased away by his fear.
He swallowed hard, cleared his throat and tried again, but no words came.
The monk scowled at them. "What do you want?"
"Um, we're-er, can we come in?"
"Church is closed at night, by the abbot's orders. Come back in the morning."
"But-"
The monk narrowed his eyes. "Unless you're claiming sanctuary, of course. Then I have to let you in."
Guy shook his head. "No, we're-"
The monk sighed. "Let me repeat myself. If you ask for sanctuary, I have to let you in."
Guy frowned, reluctant to utter a falsehood so close to God. But Isabella had no such compunction. She stepped in front of Guy and clasped her hands together.
"Yes, we claim sanctuary. We are tired and orphaned and very far from home. We have naught left in the world but God."
The monk seemed unmoved, but he nodded curtly in their direction and waved them into the church and down the nave into the cloisters. The abbey courtyard was dark, and Guy could spy only a sliver of moonlight through the walls and columns that lined the cloisters. The cloisters were lit by torches, but the light receded as they walked across the courtyard, and Guy could not fight off the feeling he was being led to his punishment.
It turned out to be only supper, as the sullen monk led them to the abbey kitchens. The smell of fresh bread wafted down the stone-lined path, and Guy's mouth watered predictably as they made their way into the building.
The monk showed the siblings to a narrow wooden bench along the wall, and another monk, this one rather jolly and welcoming, brought them trenchers and potage. Isabella gave the monk a crooked smile and began to eat. Guy held on to the food for a moment, feeling dishonest but also desperately hungry.
"I'm the kitchener," the jolly monk said. "Brother Rupert." He clucked his tongue. "You look hungry. And tired. Traveling from far?"
Guy hesitated, but decided he would not compound all his sins by lying to a priest. "England."
"Ah. And you've come here for sanctuary?"
At this, Guy cast a glance at the other monk, who was still glaring at them. "Er, yes. We were…orphaned. We had no place to go."
The sullen monk scoffed. "Yes. 'Naught left in the world but God', I believe it was."
Guy felt a sudden rush of irritation at the monk, his attitude, his presumption, even his voice. "Actually, that's not quite true. We're here to see Martin of Lisieux."
Brother Rupert raised an eyebrow in surprise, but the sullen monk smirked. "Oh? Around here, we refer to him as the Lord Abbot, and we do not take his name so plainly."
Guy was taken aback and cursed himself for the impertinence. But he schooled himself to calm and put on his most indifferent expression. "You will excuse me the familiarity, but I'm…his kinsman."
The expression on the sullen monk's face changed abruptly as he absorbed this new information. Brother Rupert took the opportunity to pull his fellow monk aside. As they walked outside to talk, Isabella winked conspiratorially at her brother and leaned her head against the wall, eavesdropping.
Guy was shocked and tried to stop her, but after a moment, he decided it was better to be impolite and aware than well-mannered and ignorant. He sat down next to her and craned his neck to hear better.
The two monks spoke in low whispers, and Guy could only hear snatches of their conversation.
"…pair of urchins!"
"Where have you seen…well-spoken?"
"But the abbot would…
"Let's speak to him about…"
Guy sighed, guessing he'd probably said too much and these two monks were not likely to take him to the abbot, except as some sort of prisoner or sinner. He leaned his head against the wall, feeling defeated. What would they do now? Where would they go? Dark thoughts came to him, and he tried in vain to dispel them.
But just as despair was about to take over, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Brother Rupert, who gave him a friendly smile.
"It is much too late to see the Lord Abbot today, you understand."
Guy nodded, grateful for the interruption, although he noted with dismay that Rupert had promised nothing.
The monk handed him a pair of ragged blankets. "The two of you can stay here, in the kitchens. I'll have someone bring you a warming stone in a while."
As he turned to leave, Guy called out to him. "And tomorrow? Can we see the abbot tomorrow?"
"I think it's best to leave tomorrow for tomorrow. I wish you a good night."
--
The kitchen fires had long since gone out, and Guy pulled the threadbare blanket closer around himself, trying to find a comfortable spot on the cold stone floor. In the distance, he could hear the plaintive chanting of the monks at matins, reminding him it was almost morning. He leaned over and nudged Isabella awake. It was best if they woke early in the day. If the abbot would not see them, or if he could not help them, they would need to get back on the road early, especially since Guy had no idea where they would go from here.
Isabella rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and glared at him. "It's too early."
Guy shrugged. "It's too cold to sleep. And we'll need to wash and be ready."
She shook her head. "They won't let us see him. I can tell."
Guy did not disagree with her, but he held out hope she was wrong, even if she was turning out to be wiser than he'd expected. He took the St. Christopher medallion out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands a few times. "Maybe we'll be lucky this once."
"What will you tell him?" Isabella's voice was soft, but the expression on her face was frank and honest, and Guy knew he owed her a real answer, not just empty reassurance.
"The truth. I'll tell him the truth." Or some version of it that makes sense. The truth, at least in this case, was far less believable than most lies.
Isabella nodded, although she seemed doubtful. Guy watched as she straightened her dress and ran a hand through her disheveled hair, and for the first time, he noticed that she was a rather pretty girl, with wide eyes and pale skin. That knowledge began to worry him, a sharp reminder the stakes were much higher for her, a girl without the protection of wealth or title.
He started to think of what to say to the abbot that would make the best case, but his efforts were interrupted by a loud commotion near the doors. Two novices were shoving each other and yelling, and before he could think better of it, Guy was in the middle, separating the two men as they continued to berate each other.
He shoved one novice away and pinned the other against the wall. "What is wrong with you?"
"Get off me!" The novice pushed himself away from Guy and glared. "He stole my bread. It's all I'm allowed to eat, and he stole it!"
The other novice hissed in protest. "I saw you stuffing your face before. I just don’t want you to break your fast and end up in trouble with the novice master. Again!"
Guy was appalled. "You're going to be monks soon. You can't fight over bread!"
The two novices turned on him. "Oh? And who are you? The new rules master then?" They sneered at Guy in a way that made his blood boil. "Where's your habit, St. Benedict?"
Guy cast about for a clever response, but nothing came to him. Behind him, Isabella cleared her throat pitifully, and he was acutely aware of the shame of being shown up in front of her, and by two unarmed novices at that.
"You look like something they dragged in off the street. Some poor orphan too weak even to beg for his bread at church."
This new insult cut too close for Guy, and he lashed out at them, pulling himself to his full height and nearly punching one of the novices before he was dragged back by his collar.
Brother Rupert set him back on his feet and turned his attention to the two novices. "You two should be ashamed. You're to be men of God soon. You should be preaching peace!" The two novices dropped their heads and shuffled their feet, knowing better than to talk back.
"Off with you, both of you. Naught but water till you learn how to keep your tongues. Out!" He shooed the novices out the door and turned his attention to Guy, clucking his tongue.
"I'm sorry," Guy mumbled, cutting off the expected scolding. "I don't know what came over me."
The monk narrowed his eyes at Guy and regarded him intently for a few minutes before shrugging and patting him gently on the shoulder. "I saw what happened. We'll just say you were grievously provoked, shall we? Meanwhile, you're probably hungry. Let's get you some food before you meet the Lord Abbot."
"So we will get to see him then?"
Brother Rupert chuckled. "Oh, yes. After news of you nearly hitting a novice reaches him, I'm certain he'll want to see you!"
--
Guy sat stiffly on the wooden chair, trying not to shuffle his feet or appear nervous. Next to him, Isabella was very still, hands clasped neatly together. But her knuckles were white with the effort, and tension filled the room, hot and thick.
They were in the refectory, where they had been invited to dine with the abbot. At first, Guy had assumed this would be a private meal, but once they'd arrived, it became clear the abbot used meals as a way to meet with important people, and this day was no different. In the room with them were a few wealthy merchants, an older knight and an assortment of well-dressed ladies and gentleman. Guy felt very small and dirty in their presence, and more than once, he wished he could simply excuse himself and run away.
But Brother Rupert had made it clear the abbot rarely met with anyone outside the order and that he was doing them a great honor by giving them an audience, and Guy had not been able to refuse. He had no idea how the monk had managed it, but he had found Guy a clean tunic to wear, and Isabella's threadbare dress had been replaced by a woolen one, plain but sturdy, and she'd been admonished to cover her head in the abbot's presence. Guy thought she looked a bit like a nun, and began to wonder if that was intentional, and whether that would be her future. It might even be mine. The thought was a sobering one, for Guy had no desire to spend his life in cloistered contemplation. But he was keenly aware they had few choices, and he would have to give in to whatever demands were made by the abbot.
The meal eventually wound down, and conversation around Guy dulled to a gentle buzz, as the abbot's guests began to disperse. The man himself still held court, chatting easily with everyone. Guy noted that unlike most well-born men of the Church, he did not wear silk vestments nor did he partake of any of the rich food his guests had been offered. In fact, he was dressed exactly as all the other monks of his order and might have been mistaken for one outside of the abbey.
Guy allowed his mind to wander over the day's events and wondered at how much trouble the morning's fracas with the novices would turn out to be. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he neither heard the abbot's voice as the man approached, nor noticed Isabella's nudging elbow at his ribs.
It was the sound of a chair being dragged across the stone floor that finally caught his attention, and when Guy looked up, it was into the bright blue eyes of Martin of Lisieux.
Guy rushed to his feet, pulling Isabella up with him. He bowed his head and spoke as politely as he had been trained to do. "My lord abbot. Thank you for your hospitality."
The abbot sat down and regarded Guy through steepled fingers. "Brother Rupert tells me you were part of a…disturbance, shall we say?"
Guy said nothing, choosing to nod and not get himself into further trouble.
The abbot chuckled. "He also tells me you've wanted to see me. May I ask why?"
Guy exchanged a quick glance with Isabella and shuffled his feet, making sure he had all the right words before he speak. "We have traveled from very far, my lord. From England, in fact. Just to find you. Er, to speak to you."
"And to what do I owe this honor?" Guy chanced looking straight at the abbot, and was surprised to find the abbot looked neither angry nor pleased, just amused. Guy took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"I am Guy, the son of Ghislaine, and this is my sister, Isabella. We are your kin."
The expression on Martin's face changed abruptly. "Ghislaine…I have not seen her in years. Not since I was but a young lad."
He frowned. "What has become of her? Of Roger?"
Guy could not meet the abbot's eyes. "She is gone. They both are. There was a fire, and…" The words caught in his throat, choking him. He could not go on, so he settled for twisting his hands together instead.
The abbot seemed equally distraught, and for a few moments, there was nothing but silence in the room. When the abbot spoke again, his voice was subdued. "I see why you are here now." He stood up and gave both Guy and Isabella a studious examination.
He patted Isabella gently on the head. "You have the look of your mother, you know." Abruptly, he embraced the little girl and then held his arms out for Guy as well. Unsure of himself but afraid to disobey, Guy folded himself dutifully into Martin's arms. To his surprise, the embrace was warm, a gesture of welcome, and Guy felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes at this unexpected show of affection.
He pulled out of the abbot's arms and scrubbed his eyes with a sleeve, hoping nobody had seen the tears. "I…I thank you, my lord."
Martin stared at Guy through narrowed eyes. At length, he shook his head. "Think nothing of it. I'm your uncle, and you must learn to trust me."
Guy felt relief wash over him, making him light-headed and dissolving away his fear. I have come home.
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