In the Devil's Thrall

Events occur a fortnight after Robin Hood and the outlaws return from the Holy Land. Death did not come for Guy of Gisborne when Robin did, and he is left to wonder why he remains in Nottingham when his quest for power has come to naught, and life is little more than a drudge.

Chapter I

Guy awoke with the remains of a dream echoing in his head. When he shut his eyes, vague images lingered; steel and sand, a dove held in the jaws of a jackal. He pushed them roughly out of mind before he could fixate on whatever guilt or fears they were trying to impart, and reached for the goblet of wine near his bed. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. Dragging a hand through his dark hair, he cursed himself for not having made provision for the morning. There was no other course but to get up and find more of the vintage, or something else to distract him from his perpetual demons.

Staying at the castle put him in a morose mood. The place should have engendered a sense of security, but lately, it felt like nothing more than a dungeon. Sunlight never penetrated the innermost corridors of the keep, yet he often found himself treading over these dark pathways, drawn inexorably back to the heart of the stone. The castle was always alive with activity, but he felt removed from it all. The inhabitants had gone from behaving deferentially toward him, to avoiding his glare entirely. It was as if they were afraid he was some beast that might take their soul down to the hell that he lived in if they looked too long. He knew he was a baleful sight, with overly long hair straggled from neglect, and a gaunt look that was due to an exhaustion of the spirit as much as the body. But he did nothing to change that. The truth was, he did not care for a living soul anymore, and assumed the feeling was mutual. A desire for retribution against those who had wronged him, and a failing sense of purpose to perform his duty for the Sheriff, were all that motivated him.

But he would have to remain at the castle until the Sheriff willed it otherwise. Ever since Robin Hood had returned from Acre, Vaisey had been in a heightened state of paranoia, and wanted his master-of-arms close at hand in case the outlaws tried something. Or perhaps, it was to make sure he did not try anything. Guy was no longer certain the Sheriff trusted him as he once had, and each day he did less and less to ingratiate himself.

A rap at the door of his quarters interrupted his brooding. Swinging the door open, he had to look down to see his visitor. A young page stood in the middle of the corridor, and nervously informed him of the Sheriff's summons.

"What does he want this early?" he asked gruffly. Truth be told, the angle of the shadows crossing the room hinted that it was not that early anymore. Most inhabitants of the castle were about their chores already, but Guy scowled at the page nonetheless. The messenger was a fair-haired boy whose mother must have been quite a sow to have birthed such a piglet. Despite his doughy appearance, the boy was aggrieved that he had angered the knight he was sent to fetch.

"He did not say, Sir Guy." There was a quaver in his voice. The page had not been at the castle long, as far as Guy knew. He wondered what happened to the Sheriff's last page. Not one to do anything according to custom, Vaisey had recruited a teenage girl for the position. And while that might have been disastrous for her, at least she had enough smarts to avoid the worst of his wrathful outbreaks while still being properly attentive. Guy had yet to find a way to do this. Perhaps she found other employment while they were away in the Holy Land. If she was truly wise, she would stay gone. This new boy would not last long. Serving the Sheriff was not a job for the sensitive.

Regardless of what he thought of the messenger, he could not ignore the message. He shrugged a heavy tunic of leather and quilted brocade over his black shirt, buckled on his sword, and took a last desperate glance around the quarters for an overlooked jug of wine. Finding none, he swore silently and then followed the page through the corridors. The boy seemed very anxious to get there quickly, but Guy kept to his usual pace. The lack of panic on the faces of the other courtiers they passed revealed they were not under siege, and the castle must not be burning, so why waste breath running up flights of stairs?

Their path finally ended at a balcony off the north wall. A short, dark figure was back-lit against the bright sunlight. The Sheriff was looking out across the field toward the edge of the forest. As usual, his sombre attire was a counterpoint to his enthusiastic madness. He spun around before Guy could say a word. He wore a falconry glove, and an enraged expression on his face.

"You took long enough!" He spat the admonishment at Guy and the page. Sometimes Guy felt like he was the Sheriff's page for all the respect the man gave him. Flinching, the page bowed his head, trying to melt into the wall of the corridor. Guy was in no mood to apologize, and said nothing. He waited for the Sheriff to reveal the source of his rage. He was not left in suspense for long.

"My lovely lanner falcon has flown, Gisborne, and you are going to retrieve it!" he declared furiously.

Guy was not expecting that order, and was not even sure it was possible to fulfill. He glanced past the Sheriff toward the sky visible beyond the outer walls. He remembered Vaisey occasionally flew the small falcon within the confines of the inner keep, preying on swallows nesting in the eaves. His brows furrowed slightly as he imagined trying to recapture the thing. While he was considering the bellowed request, the Sheriff's anger had been abruptly replaced by the deepest sorrow.

"Does she not understand she has nothing without me? How could she want to leave when I give her my time, my attention, and the best meat in the castle? " He stalked about in front of the balcony.

I imagine most creatures would rather run away than sit on your hand all day, Guy thought wryly. He turned to watch the Sheriff pace.

Vaisey continued to lecture in an aggrieved voice, "Women are all the same, no matter what the species. Give them the world and the ungrateful wretches run off to find a better deal elsewhere. But I do not have to tell you that, now do I?" The Sheriff stopped pacing and looked closely at Guy for the first time that morning. Guy let the comment pass. To Vaisey, Guy's murder of Marian, and subsequent turmoil, were just lessons he had needed to learn the hard way.

The Sheriff's hazel eyes glinted as he scrutinized his second-in-command. He removed the falconry glove, and bridged the distance between them. His tone turned to a low snarl, "You do not seem to appreciate the pathos of this situation!" He struck Guy on the arm with the heavy leather glove. "Here, take this. Perhaps she will come back to something familiar." Frowning, Guy took the violently proffered item of clothing.

Looking up from the glove, he noticed Vaisey was still focusing too intently on him. "You know, you lack a certain joie de vivre today. I cannot quite put my finger on it," he advanced, laying his index finger in the center of Guy's chest, "but there is something lacking in your service to me these days." Guy did not back down, and the Sheriff stared up at him with brows drawn together, and mock disappointment playing about his mouth. "It is most irksome. Even that twit Allan had more gusto than you do lately. I might just have to look him up." He moved away from Guy to look out the window, then tossed a comment over his shoulder, "Perhaps..." he dragged the word out, "...offer him a shot at your job." The Sheriff twisted partly around to see the effect his jab had on his subordinate.

Guy was unimpressed by the threat, and chose not to dignify it with a reaction. They both knew Allan was a lazy traitor, and would not be useful except as target practice. When his barb did not appear to sting, the Sheriff grew coolly malevolent.

"Truly Gisborne, you need to work on your attitude. Your purpose is to impress upon the population the power I have over them. I will remind you it is my power, not yours. You are my agent. I have placed a great amount of trust in you. I assume I need not remind you that any breach of trust, in whatever way it manifests, will result in dire consequences."

The coldness of Vaisey's tone suggested he was being serious. Guy had not planned to have it out with the Sheriff today, and he tried to soften his look to appear slightly deferential, "Of course, my lord." He tried to look contrite without looking weak. It was a balancing act he had perfected over the years.

A contemptuous smile crossed the Sheriff's face, "Don't look so lost. The falcon was seen heading north. Two scouts were sent out to follow it. Take the master falconer with an escort, and get my bird back!" Guy struggled not to let his irritation become obvious. If the Sheriff cared so much about it, why didn't he find the fat buzzard himself?

Sharply, the Sheriff turned his back on him, and Guy took it as his cue to leave, but Vaisey's voice slipped into a leisurely drawl, "Oh, and Gisborne..." He spoke without looking at Guy, "do try not to kill her when you get her back. Your track record with birds is a little grim." He chuckled to himself.

Guy's features revealed a momentary flash of anger, but the Sheriff was not looking. Guy knew his games, and tried hard not to participate, but mastery of his own will was slipping. Vaisey took increasing pleasure in pricking the raw places in Guy's heart, without really understanding how close he came to a killing blow. It was likely the Sheriff had never suffered from an affliction of guilt, and he must have found it amusing to watch his bad boy saddened over killing what he viewed as nothing more than a traitorous wench.

Guy turned without a word, and strode back down the corridor, causing the heretofore silent page to squeak in fright as he passed. Before descending the stairs leading to the stables, he shouted orders to one of the guards at the end of the hall to gather soldiers for the escort.

With each step down the stairwell, the spurs on his boots rang sharply against the grey stone. The sound reminded him of the bells attached to a falcon's leg. Fetching the Sheriff's pet was just the sort of thing Guy could not have cared less about, but if nothing else, it would provide a distraction from his otherwise sullen mood.

After barking an order to his own page to ready his horse, he sent a messenger to the mews to summon the falcon master. It occurred to him that this ridiculous task might be a ruse to get him out of the castle so his own soldiers could kill him on the Sheriff's order. But Vaisey had innumerable ways he could have Guy killed, so it really was not worth bothering about. He had enough things gnawing at his mind without adding paranoia to the list.