Fic: To Cozen Fortune - Chapter 10
Title, Chapter: To Cozen Fortune, Chapter 10
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 10. The Royal Master
Michaelmas, 1177
Church of the Holy Trinity, Caën
The day of Isabella's wedding dawned cold and dreary as he arrived at the church. Guy had no desire to be there, and at first, he'd told the abbot in no uncertain terms that he would not attend, but at length, he'd relented, if only because the abbot had convinced him that he should be the one sending Isabella off to her new life, the beginning of her new adventures.
And yet, as he trudged into the stony silence of the church, Guy could not fend off the feeling this was more of an end than a beginning. Everything had changed, and not necessarily for the good. Guy blamed himself for much of what had happened, for being inattentive to his sister and her affection for Lambert, for being unable to stand up to Martin when he had the chance. His unhappiness in the face of it all seemed a proper punishment. You reap as you sow.
Isabella, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by everything, her blue eyes reflecting only determination and fierce pride. She smiled at the appropriate times and otherwise comported herself exactly as expected, demure and obedient.
Despite his reservations, Guy had to admit she made a rather striking bride. She was wearing a dress made out of some expensive-looking material, and around her neck, she wore a jewel Guy had never seen before. He suspected they were presents from her soon-to-be-husband, and if he wished to lavish gifts on his wife, it was a good sign for their future. It was also none of his business, and Guy wisely kept silent on the subject.
The man she was marrying, this Thornton of Shrewsbury was not quite the monster Guy had made him into in his own mind. He had seen him earlier that morning, and he'd been surprised to discover Thornton was still a young man, tall and powerful, and the way he held himself projected determination more than anything else. Guy had stifled the urge to laugh then, at how well Isabella and Thornton were matched in that regard. There were other things about Thornton that made Guy nervous, however. He had a thin-lipped way of smiling that struck Guy as a mockery of laughter rather than a sign of amusement. He rode a handsome horse and wore rich fabrics, obviously enamored of his own money and station.
I can't hate him for that. Money is not a terrible thing, after all. The abbot certainly seemed to think money, or at least the influence it brought, had its uses. Martin was his usual calm and efficient self today. If there was anything extraordinary about the marriage of his niece, he seemed unaffected by it. For all Guy knew, he was this way at every wedding, but Guy himself had never been to a wedding and did not know what to expect.
Isabella slipped her hand into his. "I didn't think you'd come."
Guy shrugged. "I didn't want to. Not after what you'd done."
She glared at him, and abruptly, she pulled her hand away. "What have I done?"
Guy said nothing, letting her flounder for a few minutes. He felt a sort of righteous anger towards her, and the feeling satisfied him as few things ever had.
Isabella sighed. "I'm surprised at you. I thought you'd understand."
"About what?"
"That I'm doing this for us?"
Guy gaped at her. "Us? This has nothing to do with me, Isabella. I didn't force you into this marriage."
"Didn't you?" She was indignant and crimson anger stained her cheeks as she spoke. "You wanted something from this world, the chance to be somebody. I'm giving you that. Don't pretend you didn't know."
"I didn't know, not until after Uncle told me. He said you'd agreed to the whole thing. He'd never force you, Isabella, I know that-"
She laughed. "Nobody forced me, that's true. But I did what I had to do."
"And what was that, sister? Lying to a good man? Breaking his heart? Lambert deserved better."
Her eyes slipped from his for just a moment, and Guy thought he sensed hesitation, maybe even regret, but when she turned back to him, her eyes blazed with cold fury. "Lambert? What can he do for me? He's nothing, and I didn't want to be nothing with him!"
Guy gaped at her. He had never once guessed that her goal in abandoning Lambert had been her own advancement. It suggested a ruthlessness and a hunger for power he'd never seen in her before. It appalled him, and he found himself stepping away from her in disgust.
She kept talking. Each new word was like salt rubbed into his considerable wounds, but he could not hear her through the din in his own head. Poor Lambert! Is this what she had said to him? Is this what women did to men?
Abruptly, Guy shoved her away and spat back at her. "Stop it. I don't know who you are anymore. You're not my sister. I never want to see you again." He turned on his heel and left his sister, abandoning her to her choice. You reap as you sow.
--
Two days later
Guy stuffed the last of his belongings into a sack and hoisted it on to his shoulder, preparing for a journey of undetermined length. He did not know where he was going, only that he had to leave the abbey. If nothing else, the events of the past few weeks had convinced him he was not intended for monastic life. All that was left now was to tell his uncle.
He walked calmly through the church and the cloisters to the abbot's quarters. As he climbed the stairs, he mused on the fact that this was the last time he would make this particular journey. It was the end of a part of his life, but he felt no grief, no sense of upheaval. Indeed, there was a sort of calmness, an absence of real feeling. He knew this peace would not last long, that there would be something that would rouse him to anger, or perhaps to laughter, but for now, he was cleansed of all his troubles, and Guy welcomed the feeling.
He knocked softly on the door to the abbot's chambers, mindful of the fact that he really should have asked permission to see him, but it was early enough in the day that Guy expected the abbot would not yet be occupied by other business. He knocked again, but when there was no answer, he tried the door and found it open, much to his surprise.
The abbot was kneeling on the stone floor, praying. His lips moved, but there was no sound, and Guy watched him in silence, awed by the man's piety and the extent of his faith. He recalled now Martin's heartfelt words about being saved by God, and briefly, Guy lamented not having the same experience. Still, seeing the abbot now, prone and helpless before a force much greater than himself, Guy knew he had made the right decision. It was not his fate to walk the path of God.
He waited patiently for the abbot to finish, and when Martin crossed himself and rose, Guy cleared his throat gently to get his attention.
Martin turned at the sound and spotting Guy, he raised an eyebrow. "Guy. What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to speak with you, my lord. Before you became too busy to see me."
"Of course." Martin walked over to the large table that served as his desk, motioning Guy into the chair opposite. "You left the wedding."
"Yes." Guy hesitated. Then, deciding there was no harm in making his opinions known, he plunged straight ahead. "I thought it was all a mistake, and I did not want to be a party to it."
Martin looked annoyed for a minute, but slowly, he nodded his head. It was not a gesture of agreement, but one of acknowledgement. "Isabella did agree to the match. I assure you." The emphasis seemed to be mostly for the abbot's own benefit, and Guy demurred, out of respect, but also out of guilt for his own part in the affair.
Guy waited for Martin to say more, but his patience was met only with silence. "There is another thing, my lord. I've come to take my leave."
Martin frowned. "You're leaving already? You're not expected at Chartres for another fortnight, and there are still arrangements…" His voice trailed off as Guy's real meaning became clear. "You're leaving the order."
"Yes."
"I see. May I ask why?"
"I don't want to be a monk. I don't think I can do it."
Martin nodded, considering the matter. "Doubt, especially in oneself, is a common affliction among novices. You will feel this way, but there will be a day when you will wake and will see your path clearly. You cannot give in to this…uncertainty you feel."
“No, my lord." Guy stood, pulling himself up to his full height. "I have no doubt, not any more. The more time I spend here, the more distance I feel from God, from all that is good and noble and holy.”
When Martin tried to interrupt, Guy held up his hand, pleading for the chance to be allowed to finish. "I have tried, tried very hard, to be like you. To be as pious as you are. But it does not come easily to me, and every day, it becomes more difficult.
"I don't think God has saved me, at least not yet, and though I would not presume to question Him, I think this is His way of telling me I am meant for other things."
Martin nodded. "And what of your responsibilities? Your duty to serve the king and retrieve your family's honor?"
"I have not forgotten, but there are other ways to serve the king." He laughed gently. "It turns out I am not Thomas Becket, after all."
Martin gaped at him, but then joined in the laughter. "It is just as well. Becket's head was far too big, and it got him killed in the end. Better you keep yours on your shoulders a bit longer."
The laughter petered out, and they lapsed into silence. Guy considered simply bowing and leaving, but he did not want to leave things undone. He and Martin started talking at the same time, and Guy conceded, letting his uncle speak first.
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know. Somewhere. There are other towns in Normandy, after all."
"And money? What will you do for money?"
Guy shook his head. "I don't know." He fingered the medallion given to him so long ago, a lifetime ago, by the monk in England. "But a man, a monk like you, once told me that a door would always be open somewhere."
Martin regarded him through narrowed eyes for several moments, and Guy began to feel nervous at the scrutiny. At length, however, Martin rose up out of his chair and walked over to Guy, embracing him affectionately. "I have been happy to have you here. I wish you well. I wish you to find that open door." He took Guy's hand and pressed coins into it.
"My lord, I don't need money from you. I am grateful for all you've done for me. For Isabella. More is not necessary. I'm-"
"It's only a few pennies. It will keep you from starving the next few days. It is the least I can do for you." He gave him a bright smile and a clap on the shoulder. "God be with you, my son."
"And with you, my lord. Uncle." He knelt for the abbot's blessing, and when it was over, he bowed politely and waited for the gesture to be returned. After a few minutes, Martin bowed in return, and Guy stepped out of the room and into his new life.
--
It was almost midday when he arrived at the horse trader's modest cottage. The door was open, but nobody was inside, and it took Guy a few more minutes to find the trader in the stables.
"Ah, Guy! Come here to finally buy a horse, eh?" The trader was a genial man, knowledgeable about horses and fond of the occasional bawdy joke. Guy was very fond of him, and he suspected the feeling was mutual.
"Not today, I'm afraid. Actually, I'm-" Guy flushed crimson, not sure why he was embarrassed. "I'm looking for Anne."
The trader shook his head. "She's outside, by the well." He gave Guy a sharp look, a warning that Guy recognized despite having little experience of it. "Horses need watering."
"Yes." Guy tried to be as polite as possible, but after a few more minutes, his patience ran out. "Can I talk to her for a bit?"
The trader shrugged. "Whatever you need to do."
She was not by the well, and after a few more minutes of fruitless searching, Guy sighed and decided to head to the tavern. There was a carter who traveled north once a week, and if he was lucky, Guy would be able to thumb a lift with him. He was not certain where he was going, but he had a sense his destiny lay north, and across the water, in England.
He doubled back on the street, and as he walked past the trader's cottage again, he saw Anne sitting at the table. Her golden hair was tied tightly away from her face and covered with an old scarf, but despite the severity of her appearance, Guy thought she was lovely. There was honesty in her, a sort of ordinary strength he'd seen in so few in his life, and he was drawn to that like a moth to a flame.
He bounded over to the house and rapped smartly on the door, hoping she'd be pleased to see him. She looked up, and instead of the bright and welcoming smile he'd been hoping for, she frowned and considered him carefully before waving him inside.
"Guy. What brings you here?"
The pretty words Guy had hoped to say disappeared on the tip of his tongue. "I…I just wanted," he floundered, still searching for the words. When none came, he fished around in his pocket and deposited a pair of coins on the table. "Thank you. For the ale." He pushed the coins gently towards her. "And for your kindness."
Anne looked him straight in the eye and then nodded curtly before scooping the money off the table. "Thank you. I would hate to have a monk in my debt forever."
"I'm not a monk. I never will be. I left the abbey."
If Anne was surprised by this news, she hid it extremely well. Her eyes dropped for a moment, but then she met his evenly. "And what happens now?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Not yet." He shuffled his feet, scuffing the rush-covered floor with his boots. "I could stay here."
Her mask of indifference slipped a little, and for just a moment, surprise showed clearly on her face. But she recovered quickly and gave him a smirk. "I don't think so. You don't know the first thing about being a horse trader."
"I could learn." He reddened, not sure of himself but determined to make his feelings known. "Especially if you were to teach me."
She gave him a frank look and then sighed, her shoulders slumping as she spoke. "Oh, Guy."
Guy panicked, not wanting to hear anything but words of agreement from her. "If it's about what happened the other night, I'm sorry about that. I’m not a drunk, and I promise you it will never happen again." Not like that anyway.
"The thing is…I like you. A lot. I think that you like me as well, at least a little. I could stay here, be with you. I can help your brother with the trade. In time, I'm sure I could learn." He tried to keep desperation out of his voice, but it shook when he spoke all the same. "Don't you want me to stay?"
"No." She looked up at him, the expression on her face unreadable, especially to Guy. "Or rather, yes, I want you to stay. And you're right. I do like you.
"But this isn't the place for you, Guy. You're meant to do other things with your life, great things. I can see it in your eyes."
He shook his head. "I want to be here. I think I'm meant to be with you. We'd be happy-"
"No." This time, there was no hiding the vehemence in her tone. "You would like it for a time, but it would never be enough for you, and then you'd be stuck here, and you'd hate the trade. You'd hate the house. You'd even hate me." She smiled sadly at him. "And I don't want that. Not even a little bit."
She reached out and took his hand, bringing it to her lips. "I'm so sorry."
He wrenched it away, hurt by her rejection and even more by her kindness. "Are you certain? Because I still think-"
She shook her head. "I know you think you love me, Guy. And maybe you do. But this isn't the end for you. There'll be someone else someday. Someone who will deserve you. Someone who will make you better than you really are."
"I don't want that. I want to be here, with you."
"That's what children say, Guy, when they don't get a toy they want. You're a man. Be patient, be strong, and what you want will come to you. I promise."
Anne fell silent, and although Guy wanted desperately to disagree with her, he did not have the words for it. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard, forcing it down, along with his feelings, into some deep recess of his heart. "Will I see you again?"
"Of course, God willing." She walked around the table and stood before him, honest and sincere, as always. "I'll miss you." She flattened her hand against his chest, stood on her toes and kissed him gently. "Now go."
"Anne." He bent his head to kiss her again, but this time, she pushed him away and punctuated her refusal with a tiny shake of the head. He brushed her forehead with his lips, and with the lingering scent of her hair still on his mind, he walked out of her cottage for the very last time.
--
Guy made his way back to the tavern, feet moving slowly across the dirt paths of the town. He was not certain where he was headed, how he was going to get there or what he would do, but his legs seemed to have a mind of their own, and he had already walked halfway there, when he realized he was nearing the castle on the hill.
He stopped in his tracks and stared up at the stone building in awe. He had never been inside any castle, much less this one, which had stood guard over the town since the days of the Conqueror himself. Guy considered going in and satisfying his curiosity, but the sight of armed guards at the gate gave him pause. They would want to know his business, and as he had none, it was not likely to end well.
Resigned, he began to walk away from the castle, when an unexpected sight caught his eye. It was the bay roan, tethered to a post outside the gate. Curious, Guy walked over to the horse and ran a gentle hand over its head. The horse butted his hand and nickered, obviously hoping he'd brought something to eat. Guy laughed. "Not today, my old friend." He patted the horse's neck. "And you look like you're being fed quite well, really."
The horse skittered unexpectedly, and Guy turned to find himself face-to-face with a knight. More to the point, the knight had unsheathed his sword, and the point was inches from Guy's neck.
"I would thank you not to help yourself to my horse." The knight's manner was polished, his words polite. Yet the way he said them, with barely concealed disdain and a hint of mockery, set Guy on edge.
He stepped away from the horse and tried to defend himself. "I wasn't doing anything. I just wanted to take a closer look. I know the horse." Guy cursed himself silently. "Er, I mean, I had seen it before. At the trader's."
"Ah." The knight reflected on Guy's words for a moment, hand still holding the sword steadily. At length, however, he relented and shoved the sword back into its scabbard. "What's your name, lad?"
"Guy, good sir. Guy of Gisborne?"
The knight raised an eyebrow at him. "Of Gisborne, eh? You're a noble?"
Guy nodded. "By birth, yes. But not so much by circumstance."
The other man gave a derisive snort. "Yes. Like all the other nobles in the world." He regarded Guy for a moment. "You look hungry."
Guy frowned. "Yes, well, it has been a while since I last ate."
The knight laughed. "That's not what I meant. But come, let's feed your hunger, shall we?"
The man led Guy into a tavern near the castle wall. The place reeked, a mixture of ale, food and sweat, and Guy had the sudden urge to run outside and heave, but he shook it off and put on a brave face. The knight seemed unfazed by it, and he laughed at the look on Guy's face.
"It's the smell of fear, boy. You'll learn to love it one day."
Guy demurred, certain the knight was wrong but unwilling to say so and appear impolite. He smiled weakly at him. They sat down at a low table, and two tankards of ale appeared almost out of nowhere. Guy lifted his in salute to the knight and drank, slowly this time, careful to savor the taste of the brew and not just the calm it brought with each swallow.
The knight pointed to Guy's pack. "Off on a trip somewhere?"
Guy shrugged. "Sort of. I'm leaving this place."
"But you don't know where you're headed?"
Guy shook his head but kept his silence, not wanting to elaborate.
"A noble without a place to go is a rare thing. Some would say a dangerous thing."
Guy laughed. "I'm not dangerous. I'm not even armed."
"Even so." The knight regarded Guy carefully. "What makes a knight what he is?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"What do you think makes a man a knight? Aside from a sword and a horse, that is."
Guy frowned. It was not a question to which he'd given much thought. As a child, he'd been told it was simply what noble boys grew up to be. "I don't know. Power, I suppose."
"And where does power come from?"
"From money, title, that sort of thing."
"Hmm." The knight fell silent after that, and he and Guy finished their tankards of ale, only to have two more appear before them. This time, Guy only pretended to drink, sensing he'd need his wits about him. The knight was clever, and Guy had a feeling he would put a sword through him without a second thought, if the mood struck.
He was about to ask the knight where he was from when a commotion broke out. Men yelled at the top of their voices, and money changed hands, as two burly punters began to arm-wrestle. Guy turned away, uninterested. Wagers on fights-between men, dogs, even chickens-happened all the time, and Guy did not find this one out of the ordinary in any way.
The knight pulled at his sleeve to get his attention. "So if you were making a wager, which man would you take?"
Guy considered the two contestants. One man was clearly larger than the other, and in a contest of brawn, size mattered more than most other things. "The big man, with the ginger hair."
The knight gave him a cryptic smile. "Hmm, yes. I thought you would." He turned away to watch the wrestlers more closely, and Guy did the same, his eyes following the action keenly. The two men were evenly matched at first, but after a few minutes, and perhaps sensing a chink in his opponent's armor, the smaller man laughed and slapped the large man's arm onto the table with a thud. All around him, men hollered and hissed, depending on whether they'd made a fortune or lost one, and Guy shook his head, not really understanding.
The knight turned back to him. "It's a good thing you didn't make a wager."
Guy chuckled. "But I might have won. It's a game of chance."
The knight turned on him, all his previous mirth gone. "Nothing is by chance, not even games.
"If you'd ask me to put down a wager, I would have put it on the smaller man. Do you know why?"
"No."
"Ah." The knight pointed to his own eyes. "Because I watch. I saw the ginger man fall down outside, and when he got up, he was favoring his right shoulder. There was no way he could have won this little contest, at least not today."
Guy followed the direction of the knight's eyes, and now that he knew what to look for, he could see that the larger man was having problems with his right arm.
"That's…impressive."
"It's not, really. It's just common sense." He gave Guy a frank look. "A man with the right knowledge never loses a bet. Or a battle.
"Power doesn't come from wealth or land or even birth. It comes from information." He slapped money for his portion of the ale on the counter. "The lesson is free. The ale is not. You'll pay for your own, won't you?"
Guy watched in confusion, as the other man left the tavern, but a thought came to him suddenly. He paid for his ale in haste and ran out the door, chasing down the knight.
He panted as he spoke. "I can ride. And I'm good with a sword."
The knight knit his brows together, nonplussed. "So?"
"You're a knight, but you care for your horse yourself. That means you have no squire. I'm offering you my services." Guy gave him a bright smile. "I watch too."
The knight looked impressed. "So you do." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Come see me tomorrow at the castle. Ask for Vaysey. But don't be late, for I intend to leave before midday."
Guy nodded, pleased with himself and for the opportunity. "Where do you go?"
"To offer my services to the king, our royal master."
"To England?"
Vaysey nodded. "Tomorrow then, Guy."
"Tomorrow, sire."
--FIN--
Previous 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 10. The Royal Master
Michaelmas, 1177
Church of the Holy Trinity, Caën
The day of Isabella's wedding dawned cold and dreary as he arrived at the church. Guy had no desire to be there, and at first, he'd told the abbot in no uncertain terms that he would not attend, but at length, he'd relented, if only because the abbot had convinced him that he should be the one sending Isabella off to her new life, the beginning of her new adventures.
And yet, as he trudged into the stony silence of the church, Guy could not fend off the feeling this was more of an end than a beginning. Everything had changed, and not necessarily for the good. Guy blamed himself for much of what had happened, for being inattentive to his sister and her affection for Lambert, for being unable to stand up to Martin when he had the chance. His unhappiness in the face of it all seemed a proper punishment. You reap as you sow.
Isabella, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by everything, her blue eyes reflecting only determination and fierce pride. She smiled at the appropriate times and otherwise comported herself exactly as expected, demure and obedient.
Despite his reservations, Guy had to admit she made a rather striking bride. She was wearing a dress made out of some expensive-looking material, and around her neck, she wore a jewel Guy had never seen before. He suspected they were presents from her soon-to-be-husband, and if he wished to lavish gifts on his wife, it was a good sign for their future. It was also none of his business, and Guy wisely kept silent on the subject.
The man she was marrying, this Thornton of Shrewsbury was not quite the monster Guy had made him into in his own mind. He had seen him earlier that morning, and he'd been surprised to discover Thornton was still a young man, tall and powerful, and the way he held himself projected determination more than anything else. Guy had stifled the urge to laugh then, at how well Isabella and Thornton were matched in that regard. There were other things about Thornton that made Guy nervous, however. He had a thin-lipped way of smiling that struck Guy as a mockery of laughter rather than a sign of amusement. He rode a handsome horse and wore rich fabrics, obviously enamored of his own money and station.
I can't hate him for that. Money is not a terrible thing, after all. The abbot certainly seemed to think money, or at least the influence it brought, had its uses. Martin was his usual calm and efficient self today. If there was anything extraordinary about the marriage of his niece, he seemed unaffected by it. For all Guy knew, he was this way at every wedding, but Guy himself had never been to a wedding and did not know what to expect.
Isabella slipped her hand into his. "I didn't think you'd come."
Guy shrugged. "I didn't want to. Not after what you'd done."
She glared at him, and abruptly, she pulled her hand away. "What have I done?"
Guy said nothing, letting her flounder for a few minutes. He felt a sort of righteous anger towards her, and the feeling satisfied him as few things ever had.
Isabella sighed. "I'm surprised at you. I thought you'd understand."
"About what?"
"That I'm doing this for us?"
Guy gaped at her. "Us? This has nothing to do with me, Isabella. I didn't force you into this marriage."
"Didn't you?" She was indignant and crimson anger stained her cheeks as she spoke. "You wanted something from this world, the chance to be somebody. I'm giving you that. Don't pretend you didn't know."
"I didn't know, not until after Uncle told me. He said you'd agreed to the whole thing. He'd never force you, Isabella, I know that-"
She laughed. "Nobody forced me, that's true. But I did what I had to do."
"And what was that, sister? Lying to a good man? Breaking his heart? Lambert deserved better."
Her eyes slipped from his for just a moment, and Guy thought he sensed hesitation, maybe even regret, but when she turned back to him, her eyes blazed with cold fury. "Lambert? What can he do for me? He's nothing, and I didn't want to be nothing with him!"
Guy gaped at her. He had never once guessed that her goal in abandoning Lambert had been her own advancement. It suggested a ruthlessness and a hunger for power he'd never seen in her before. It appalled him, and he found himself stepping away from her in disgust.
She kept talking. Each new word was like salt rubbed into his considerable wounds, but he could not hear her through the din in his own head. Poor Lambert! Is this what she had said to him? Is this what women did to men?
Abruptly, Guy shoved her away and spat back at her. "Stop it. I don't know who you are anymore. You're not my sister. I never want to see you again." He turned on his heel and left his sister, abandoning her to her choice. You reap as you sow.
--
Two days later
Guy stuffed the last of his belongings into a sack and hoisted it on to his shoulder, preparing for a journey of undetermined length. He did not know where he was going, only that he had to leave the abbey. If nothing else, the events of the past few weeks had convinced him he was not intended for monastic life. All that was left now was to tell his uncle.
He walked calmly through the church and the cloisters to the abbot's quarters. As he climbed the stairs, he mused on the fact that this was the last time he would make this particular journey. It was the end of a part of his life, but he felt no grief, no sense of upheaval. Indeed, there was a sort of calmness, an absence of real feeling. He knew this peace would not last long, that there would be something that would rouse him to anger, or perhaps to laughter, but for now, he was cleansed of all his troubles, and Guy welcomed the feeling.
He knocked softly on the door to the abbot's chambers, mindful of the fact that he really should have asked permission to see him, but it was early enough in the day that Guy expected the abbot would not yet be occupied by other business. He knocked again, but when there was no answer, he tried the door and found it open, much to his surprise.
The abbot was kneeling on the stone floor, praying. His lips moved, but there was no sound, and Guy watched him in silence, awed by the man's piety and the extent of his faith. He recalled now Martin's heartfelt words about being saved by God, and briefly, Guy lamented not having the same experience. Still, seeing the abbot now, prone and helpless before a force much greater than himself, Guy knew he had made the right decision. It was not his fate to walk the path of God.
He waited patiently for the abbot to finish, and when Martin crossed himself and rose, Guy cleared his throat gently to get his attention.
Martin turned at the sound and spotting Guy, he raised an eyebrow. "Guy. What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to speak with you, my lord. Before you became too busy to see me."
"Of course." Martin walked over to the large table that served as his desk, motioning Guy into the chair opposite. "You left the wedding."
"Yes." Guy hesitated. Then, deciding there was no harm in making his opinions known, he plunged straight ahead. "I thought it was all a mistake, and I did not want to be a party to it."
Martin looked annoyed for a minute, but slowly, he nodded his head. It was not a gesture of agreement, but one of acknowledgement. "Isabella did agree to the match. I assure you." The emphasis seemed to be mostly for the abbot's own benefit, and Guy demurred, out of respect, but also out of guilt for his own part in the affair.
Guy waited for Martin to say more, but his patience was met only with silence. "There is another thing, my lord. I've come to take my leave."
Martin frowned. "You're leaving already? You're not expected at Chartres for another fortnight, and there are still arrangements…" His voice trailed off as Guy's real meaning became clear. "You're leaving the order."
"Yes."
"I see. May I ask why?"
"I don't want to be a monk. I don't think I can do it."
Martin nodded, considering the matter. "Doubt, especially in oneself, is a common affliction among novices. You will feel this way, but there will be a day when you will wake and will see your path clearly. You cannot give in to this…uncertainty you feel."
“No, my lord." Guy stood, pulling himself up to his full height. "I have no doubt, not any more. The more time I spend here, the more distance I feel from God, from all that is good and noble and holy.”
When Martin tried to interrupt, Guy held up his hand, pleading for the chance to be allowed to finish. "I have tried, tried very hard, to be like you. To be as pious as you are. But it does not come easily to me, and every day, it becomes more difficult.
"I don't think God has saved me, at least not yet, and though I would not presume to question Him, I think this is His way of telling me I am meant for other things."
Martin nodded. "And what of your responsibilities? Your duty to serve the king and retrieve your family's honor?"
"I have not forgotten, but there are other ways to serve the king." He laughed gently. "It turns out I am not Thomas Becket, after all."
Martin gaped at him, but then joined in the laughter. "It is just as well. Becket's head was far too big, and it got him killed in the end. Better you keep yours on your shoulders a bit longer."
The laughter petered out, and they lapsed into silence. Guy considered simply bowing and leaving, but he did not want to leave things undone. He and Martin started talking at the same time, and Guy conceded, letting his uncle speak first.
"Where will you go?"
"I don't know. Somewhere. There are other towns in Normandy, after all."
"And money? What will you do for money?"
Guy shook his head. "I don't know." He fingered the medallion given to him so long ago, a lifetime ago, by the monk in England. "But a man, a monk like you, once told me that a door would always be open somewhere."
Martin regarded him through narrowed eyes for several moments, and Guy began to feel nervous at the scrutiny. At length, however, Martin rose up out of his chair and walked over to Guy, embracing him affectionately. "I have been happy to have you here. I wish you well. I wish you to find that open door." He took Guy's hand and pressed coins into it.
"My lord, I don't need money from you. I am grateful for all you've done for me. For Isabella. More is not necessary. I'm-"
"It's only a few pennies. It will keep you from starving the next few days. It is the least I can do for you." He gave him a bright smile and a clap on the shoulder. "God be with you, my son."
"And with you, my lord. Uncle." He knelt for the abbot's blessing, and when it was over, he bowed politely and waited for the gesture to be returned. After a few minutes, Martin bowed in return, and Guy stepped out of the room and into his new life.
--
It was almost midday when he arrived at the horse trader's modest cottage. The door was open, but nobody was inside, and it took Guy a few more minutes to find the trader in the stables.
"Ah, Guy! Come here to finally buy a horse, eh?" The trader was a genial man, knowledgeable about horses and fond of the occasional bawdy joke. Guy was very fond of him, and he suspected the feeling was mutual.
"Not today, I'm afraid. Actually, I'm-" Guy flushed crimson, not sure why he was embarrassed. "I'm looking for Anne."
The trader shook his head. "She's outside, by the well." He gave Guy a sharp look, a warning that Guy recognized despite having little experience of it. "Horses need watering."
"Yes." Guy tried to be as polite as possible, but after a few more minutes, his patience ran out. "Can I talk to her for a bit?"
The trader shrugged. "Whatever you need to do."
She was not by the well, and after a few more minutes of fruitless searching, Guy sighed and decided to head to the tavern. There was a carter who traveled north once a week, and if he was lucky, Guy would be able to thumb a lift with him. He was not certain where he was going, but he had a sense his destiny lay north, and across the water, in England.
He doubled back on the street, and as he walked past the trader's cottage again, he saw Anne sitting at the table. Her golden hair was tied tightly away from her face and covered with an old scarf, but despite the severity of her appearance, Guy thought she was lovely. There was honesty in her, a sort of ordinary strength he'd seen in so few in his life, and he was drawn to that like a moth to a flame.
He bounded over to the house and rapped smartly on the door, hoping she'd be pleased to see him. She looked up, and instead of the bright and welcoming smile he'd been hoping for, she frowned and considered him carefully before waving him inside.
"Guy. What brings you here?"
The pretty words Guy had hoped to say disappeared on the tip of his tongue. "I…I just wanted," he floundered, still searching for the words. When none came, he fished around in his pocket and deposited a pair of coins on the table. "Thank you. For the ale." He pushed the coins gently towards her. "And for your kindness."
Anne looked him straight in the eye and then nodded curtly before scooping the money off the table. "Thank you. I would hate to have a monk in my debt forever."
"I'm not a monk. I never will be. I left the abbey."
If Anne was surprised by this news, she hid it extremely well. Her eyes dropped for a moment, but then she met his evenly. "And what happens now?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Not yet." He shuffled his feet, scuffing the rush-covered floor with his boots. "I could stay here."
Her mask of indifference slipped a little, and for just a moment, surprise showed clearly on her face. But she recovered quickly and gave him a smirk. "I don't think so. You don't know the first thing about being a horse trader."
"I could learn." He reddened, not sure of himself but determined to make his feelings known. "Especially if you were to teach me."
She gave him a frank look and then sighed, her shoulders slumping as she spoke. "Oh, Guy."
Guy panicked, not wanting to hear anything but words of agreement from her. "If it's about what happened the other night, I'm sorry about that. I’m not a drunk, and I promise you it will never happen again." Not like that anyway.
"The thing is…I like you. A lot. I think that you like me as well, at least a little. I could stay here, be with you. I can help your brother with the trade. In time, I'm sure I could learn." He tried to keep desperation out of his voice, but it shook when he spoke all the same. "Don't you want me to stay?"
"No." She looked up at him, the expression on her face unreadable, especially to Guy. "Or rather, yes, I want you to stay. And you're right. I do like you.
"But this isn't the place for you, Guy. You're meant to do other things with your life, great things. I can see it in your eyes."
He shook his head. "I want to be here. I think I'm meant to be with you. We'd be happy-"
"No." This time, there was no hiding the vehemence in her tone. "You would like it for a time, but it would never be enough for you, and then you'd be stuck here, and you'd hate the trade. You'd hate the house. You'd even hate me." She smiled sadly at him. "And I don't want that. Not even a little bit."
She reached out and took his hand, bringing it to her lips. "I'm so sorry."
He wrenched it away, hurt by her rejection and even more by her kindness. "Are you certain? Because I still think-"
She shook her head. "I know you think you love me, Guy. And maybe you do. But this isn't the end for you. There'll be someone else someday. Someone who will deserve you. Someone who will make you better than you really are."
"I don't want that. I want to be here, with you."
"That's what children say, Guy, when they don't get a toy they want. You're a man. Be patient, be strong, and what you want will come to you. I promise."
Anne fell silent, and although Guy wanted desperately to disagree with her, he did not have the words for it. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard, forcing it down, along with his feelings, into some deep recess of his heart. "Will I see you again?"
"Of course, God willing." She walked around the table and stood before him, honest and sincere, as always. "I'll miss you." She flattened her hand against his chest, stood on her toes and kissed him gently. "Now go."
"Anne." He bent his head to kiss her again, but this time, she pushed him away and punctuated her refusal with a tiny shake of the head. He brushed her forehead with his lips, and with the lingering scent of her hair still on his mind, he walked out of her cottage for the very last time.
--
Guy made his way back to the tavern, feet moving slowly across the dirt paths of the town. He was not certain where he was headed, how he was going to get there or what he would do, but his legs seemed to have a mind of their own, and he had already walked halfway there, when he realized he was nearing the castle on the hill.
He stopped in his tracks and stared up at the stone building in awe. He had never been inside any castle, much less this one, which had stood guard over the town since the days of the Conqueror himself. Guy considered going in and satisfying his curiosity, but the sight of armed guards at the gate gave him pause. They would want to know his business, and as he had none, it was not likely to end well.
Resigned, he began to walk away from the castle, when an unexpected sight caught his eye. It was the bay roan, tethered to a post outside the gate. Curious, Guy walked over to the horse and ran a gentle hand over its head. The horse butted his hand and nickered, obviously hoping he'd brought something to eat. Guy laughed. "Not today, my old friend." He patted the horse's neck. "And you look like you're being fed quite well, really."
The horse skittered unexpectedly, and Guy turned to find himself face-to-face with a knight. More to the point, the knight had unsheathed his sword, and the point was inches from Guy's neck.
"I would thank you not to help yourself to my horse." The knight's manner was polished, his words polite. Yet the way he said them, with barely concealed disdain and a hint of mockery, set Guy on edge.
He stepped away from the horse and tried to defend himself. "I wasn't doing anything. I just wanted to take a closer look. I know the horse." Guy cursed himself silently. "Er, I mean, I had seen it before. At the trader's."
"Ah." The knight reflected on Guy's words for a moment, hand still holding the sword steadily. At length, however, he relented and shoved the sword back into its scabbard. "What's your name, lad?"
"Guy, good sir. Guy of Gisborne?"
The knight raised an eyebrow at him. "Of Gisborne, eh? You're a noble?"
Guy nodded. "By birth, yes. But not so much by circumstance."
The other man gave a derisive snort. "Yes. Like all the other nobles in the world." He regarded Guy for a moment. "You look hungry."
Guy frowned. "Yes, well, it has been a while since I last ate."
The knight laughed. "That's not what I meant. But come, let's feed your hunger, shall we?"
The man led Guy into a tavern near the castle wall. The place reeked, a mixture of ale, food and sweat, and Guy had the sudden urge to run outside and heave, but he shook it off and put on a brave face. The knight seemed unfazed by it, and he laughed at the look on Guy's face.
"It's the smell of fear, boy. You'll learn to love it one day."
Guy demurred, certain the knight was wrong but unwilling to say so and appear impolite. He smiled weakly at him. They sat down at a low table, and two tankards of ale appeared almost out of nowhere. Guy lifted his in salute to the knight and drank, slowly this time, careful to savor the taste of the brew and not just the calm it brought with each swallow.
The knight pointed to Guy's pack. "Off on a trip somewhere?"
Guy shrugged. "Sort of. I'm leaving this place."
"But you don't know where you're headed?"
Guy shook his head but kept his silence, not wanting to elaborate.
"A noble without a place to go is a rare thing. Some would say a dangerous thing."
Guy laughed. "I'm not dangerous. I'm not even armed."
"Even so." The knight regarded Guy carefully. "What makes a knight what he is?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"What do you think makes a man a knight? Aside from a sword and a horse, that is."
Guy frowned. It was not a question to which he'd given much thought. As a child, he'd been told it was simply what noble boys grew up to be. "I don't know. Power, I suppose."
"And where does power come from?"
"From money, title, that sort of thing."
"Hmm." The knight fell silent after that, and he and Guy finished their tankards of ale, only to have two more appear before them. This time, Guy only pretended to drink, sensing he'd need his wits about him. The knight was clever, and Guy had a feeling he would put a sword through him without a second thought, if the mood struck.
He was about to ask the knight where he was from when a commotion broke out. Men yelled at the top of their voices, and money changed hands, as two burly punters began to arm-wrestle. Guy turned away, uninterested. Wagers on fights-between men, dogs, even chickens-happened all the time, and Guy did not find this one out of the ordinary in any way.
The knight pulled at his sleeve to get his attention. "So if you were making a wager, which man would you take?"
Guy considered the two contestants. One man was clearly larger than the other, and in a contest of brawn, size mattered more than most other things. "The big man, with the ginger hair."
The knight gave him a cryptic smile. "Hmm, yes. I thought you would." He turned away to watch the wrestlers more closely, and Guy did the same, his eyes following the action keenly. The two men were evenly matched at first, but after a few minutes, and perhaps sensing a chink in his opponent's armor, the smaller man laughed and slapped the large man's arm onto the table with a thud. All around him, men hollered and hissed, depending on whether they'd made a fortune or lost one, and Guy shook his head, not really understanding.
The knight turned back to him. "It's a good thing you didn't make a wager."
Guy chuckled. "But I might have won. It's a game of chance."
The knight turned on him, all his previous mirth gone. "Nothing is by chance, not even games.
"If you'd ask me to put down a wager, I would have put it on the smaller man. Do you know why?"
"No."
"Ah." The knight pointed to his own eyes. "Because I watch. I saw the ginger man fall down outside, and when he got up, he was favoring his right shoulder. There was no way he could have won this little contest, at least not today."
Guy followed the direction of the knight's eyes, and now that he knew what to look for, he could see that the larger man was having problems with his right arm.
"That's…impressive."
"It's not, really. It's just common sense." He gave Guy a frank look. "A man with the right knowledge never loses a bet. Or a battle.
"Power doesn't come from wealth or land or even birth. It comes from information." He slapped money for his portion of the ale on the counter. "The lesson is free. The ale is not. You'll pay for your own, won't you?"
Guy watched in confusion, as the other man left the tavern, but a thought came to him suddenly. He paid for his ale in haste and ran out the door, chasing down the knight.
He panted as he spoke. "I can ride. And I'm good with a sword."
The knight knit his brows together, nonplussed. "So?"
"You're a knight, but you care for your horse yourself. That means you have no squire. I'm offering you my services." Guy gave him a bright smile. "I watch too."
The knight looked impressed. "So you do." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Come see me tomorrow at the castle. Ask for Vaysey. But don't be late, for I intend to leave before midday."
Guy nodded, pleased with himself and for the opportunity. "Where do you go?"
"To offer my services to the king, our royal master."
"To England?"
Vaysey nodded. "Tomorrow then, Guy."
"Tomorrow, sire."
--FIN--
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