How Sir Gui charged deSteny
NOTHING annoyed Sir Gui deGisbourne as much as bad news, and never more than when it came from Hugh deSteny, since he knew of old that his Sheriff did not approach him on minor matters. He was not in humor to have bad news today, and he took it badly that the Sheriff had come to wait upon him. Pulling at his neat, little beard, he met deSteny with his best forbidding frown as deSteny went onto his knee and kissed his hand as a sign of homage. He pulled his hand away at once and fixed deSteny with a ferocious glare.
“Very well, Sheriff, what is it this time? I had better warn you that I am not inclined to be lenient today,” he said without any exchange of pleasantries. He leaned back in his chair and fixed deSteny with his most penetrating stare, to show how much of an imposition this audience was.
“I would not have come if I did not require your authorization to undertake a necessary operation,” said deSteny, using the phrases he had been rehearsing for more than a day. He got to his feet and stood very straight in front of his elegant and decadent superior. “I would not ask if I were not convinced that we must act quickly or face greater dangers than already exist.”
“Yes. So I gathered from your message. My clerk read it to me as soon as I came in from hunting, though I confess it has left me confused.” He had the knack of being able to look down his nose at someone standing above him, and he used it now. “What is this danger that has you—of all men—in such a dither? It’s not the merchants, is it? Sir Humphrey already told me about them.”
DeSteny reminded himself that he was not going to let Sir Gui aggravate him, no matter how insufferable his attitude might be. Much as he hated being characterized as one who dithers, he bore it as best he could. He made his countenance expressionless. “No, this is not about Sir Humphrey, not directly. You have not been on Crusade, have you, my Lord?”
“You know very well I have not,” said Sir Gui impatiently. “If this has more to do with disabled soldiers returning, well, I am heartily sorry for them, of course, but they are the King’s men, not mine, and they must look to him for their livelihood. I am not one to attach another man’s vassals.” He waved his hand to indicate that this was his final word on the matter. “Though that would mean following him back to the Holy Land, wouldn’t it?” He grinned at his own witticism.
“It is not a matter of soldiers,” said deSteny with all the patience he could summon. “Or not the soldiers you mean.” He paused and launched into the purpose of his coming. “On Crusade we learned of those who have become servants of the Devil, men who were dead and not dead, men who made prey of other men in the Devil’s name. They drank the blood of the living to make them one of their depraved numbers. The Greek priests told us of them, and how they must be fought.” He had not believed what he had heard, not at first, he reminded himself, so Sir Gui’s incredulity should not amaze him. He himself had required proof, and only when he had it did he seek the aid of the Orthodox priests.
“I will not sponsor an expedition to Greece,” said Sir Gui, fingering his fashionably pointed beard.
“I will not ask that. I only want to tell you of this danger, newly arrived on our shores.” Again he waited, thinking that this jeweled and velvet-clad exquisite was a disastrous choice to rule Nottinghamshire. He might come from a distinguished line, but he had done little to add to his family’s distinction. But King Richard had given the fief to Sir Gui shortly after gaining the crown, and Sir Gui had been a man of distinction ever since, elevating his whole minor-nobility family to positions of importance and sparking great ambitions in his father. Many another family had done the same, and though Hugh deSteny disliked the results, he understood the impetus. Detesting his task, he went on, “It seems, from what I have been told, that the Devil’s servants we were warned of in the Holy Land have come to England.”
“How is that, pray?” asked Sir Gui as if he were heartily bored of the whole matter. He stifled a yawn to make his point.
Beginning to worry that his task was in vain, deSteny pressed on. “I have lately seen dead crofters who had been killed by the Devil’s servants.”
“Oh. Crofters. Well, they are ... they are crofters. How can you expect them to defend against marauders?” He gave deSteny another look of displeasure. “If you are here because of a few dead crofters ...”
“Not that they are dead, my Lord,” said deSteny, “but because of how they died.” He let this sink in, and added, “They were all drained of blood, my Lord.” He knew he should not tell Sir Gui that the bodies were missing: Sir Gui was repelled by accounts of desecration of the dead.
“Someone murdered them, do you say? Or slaughtered them like hogs.” Sir Gui raised his eyebrows, anticipating an answer. “There are marauders from Greece killing crofters?”
“Hardly marauders, my Lord,” said deSteny. “They are creatures who were once men, as other men, but who were seduced in death to the Devil’s cause, and do his work in the world.”
“Murdering crofters,” mused Sir Gui. “Not what one would expect of the Devil. He is supposed to prefer finer game.”
Now deSteny was hard-put to control his temper. “Killing anyone who has the misfortune to come upon them after dark. They do more than rob, they care more for shedding blood than taking plunder.” He tried to find a way to persuade Sir Gui of the horror he had witnessed. “They prey on hapless travelers, as well—”
“But you said you had found dead crofters,” Sir Gui interrupted.
“Yes. The warden found them and quite correctly came to me. But more than crofters, travelers are in danger. Those merchants who were attacked by outlaws who stole their goods might well have lost much more than that, had they faced these creatures.” He took a long breath. “These men who are no longer men are strongest in the night, but they can be powerful in the day as long as they are on their native ground. Anyone in Sherwood cannot think himself safe while these ... these servants of the Devil are abroad.”
“Tell me, deSteny, why do you bother me with this? Surely you and Sir Humphrey can deal with these miscreants. He has assured me the garrison is sufficient to make short work of a band of outlaws.” He reached out and poured himself a cup of wine from the jar sitting on his table, very pointedly offering none to the Sheriff.
“I doubt we can manage this with the forces we have at hand,” said deSteny with very real worry coloring his tone. “We will need more men-at-arms.”
“God’s wounds, deSteny, I judged you a sensible man, not such a credulous fool, to be jumping at shadows,” exclaimed Sir Gui with heavy irony. “What has come over you, to permit a few outlaws to unman you? You’ve dealt with such miscreants before. Let Sir Humphrey take care of it, if you are not willing to.”
“If it were only a few outlaws, my Lord,” said deSteny, knowing that it was useless, but unable to stop himself. “These are not outlaws as we have seen before, men who rob only goods and gold. These creatures take everything: goods, gold, life, and soul.” He saw that he had not persuaded Sir Gui. “They could endanger every man, woman, and child who sets foot in Sherwood.”
“Then be rid of them. Hunt them down and kill them. Go into the forest and do your job. That is what your garrison is for, as I should not need to remind you.” Sir Gui coughed delicately. “I cannot now afford to pay and equip more men, nor can I enlarge your fortifications. Everything is so costly. You know how much Prince John has raised the taxes, and with all the silver coming in from the Lowlands, the value of our coins shrinks daily.” He took another long draught of wine. “It isn’t possible for me just now to provide more men, or armor, or horses.”
“Then at least ask the Bishop of Lincoln to send us two or three ordained priests. We have only two in Nottingham, and one is crabbed with age.” It was a desperate plea, one he hated to make.
“Priests?” scoffed Sir Gui. “Why priests? What good are they?”
“They are trained to battle the Devil and his minions. Many of them have seen this evil before. They may do more to protect Nottinghamshire than all the men-at-arms in the Holy Land. My Lord, your people will suffer if you do not provide me with some means to strike back at our enemies.” He wished now that he had brought Wroughton or Hamlin along, to add the weight of their observations to his petition.
“If it will make things easier for you, Sheriff,” said Sir Gui with no attempts to hide his disdain, “I will have my clerk send word to the Bishop of Lincoln, though I cannot say what his answer will be.”
“I thank you for it, my Lord,” said deSteny, resisting the urge to yell at Sir Gui, to castigate him for his indifference in the face of danger. Somehow he managed to hold his tongue, though he burned to challenge Sir Gui for his thoughtlessness. He bowed stiffly. “You have been all kindness to hear me out.”
Sir Gui accepted this compliment with his usual grace. “It is good of you to say so. But I am troubled that you brought this matter to me. I would have thought you were more prudent than to be so distressed by these new outlaws. Greeks or not, you know how to deal with them, and if you do not, Sir Humphrey does.” This last was and ill-veiled threat, a reminder to the Sheriff that he served at Sir Gui’s discretion and pleasure.
“I cannot help but be alarmed, my Lord,” said deSteny flatly.
“Um-hum.” Sir Gui considered his answer and nodded once more. “Very likely not. And finding murdered people, even crofters, is unpleasant. You get the report from the warden and let him notify the White Friars. Then leave it to the monks. They do it for love of God.” This last made him giggle. “Oh. You had better know, for it will be called in Banns soon. It seems I am to be married.” This was announced with all the enthusiasm of a man revealing the news of his exile.
“May God show you favor in your bride, my Lord,” said deSteny, startled, but recovering quickly.
“She is acceptable to my father and I am to hers. I believe it is all arranged now.” He lifted his shoulders to show the negotiations were out of his hands in any case. “I have not met the lady yet.”
DeSteny thought that it was possible Sir Gui’s bride might be disappointed in what her father had chosen for her, but he said, “May it be a felicitous time for you both. How very fine for you and your House. May she give you many healthy sons. May you have long years together. May your union be a happy one.”
“Thank you,” said Sir Gui grandly. “A man of my position must carry on the name and my only brother is a monk in France. The burden falls to me.” He showed a resigned face. “Therefore it is my obligation to provide grandsons for my father.”
“Such is the duty of sons,” agreed deSteny.
Sir Gui made an ironic toast with his cup. “My bride—Marian deBeauchamp.”
In spite of himself, deSteny was impressed that Sir Gui’s father had managed to find such a well-born wife for his son. “An excellent family.”
“Yes, they are,” said Sir Gui. “I will expect you to escort her from Nottingham to here, with all appropriate deference.”
“That I will,” said deSteny, aware that this might give him another opportunity to ask for more men-at-arms to drive the new menace from Sherwood. “And count it an honor to render such service.”
“Most certainly,” said Sir Gui unhappily. “I thought ...” His voice grew soft. “There would be more time before my father made these arrangements.”
“The more time to provide your family with sons.” DeSteny said this with an inner satisfaction, for he was still annoyed at Sir Gui’s refusal to grant him the men he needed, and he was not above exacting a price for his disappointment.
“So my father tells me,” said Sir Gui. He drank the last of his wine and poured a little more, and drank that down. “Pity, that we have such poor vines here in England. Our wines are inferior to those of Burgundy. It is very costly to bring wine from France now that Prince John taxes every barrel of it.”
DeSteny thought how many men-at-arms could be paid and equipped for what Sir Gui undoubtedly spent on wines, and he cringed. “It is very hard, my Lord. Though Prince John is doing what he must to maintain England for King Richard. As you say, keeping men-at-arms is costly, and he has an army to provide for.”
“Still, the taxes are ruinous,” insisted Sir Gui, staring off into space. “If my towns and tenants would pay more of the sum demanded, I would not have to make up the rest. I have the right to demand more of them.”
The last thing deSteny wanted to do was become any more Sir Gui’s tax collector than he was now. He managed his response carefully so that Sir Gui would not be offended by having his will thwarted by the Sheriff of Nottingham. “You know what your duty is better than I, but as one who hears the travail of peasants, I don’t think it would be wise to make such demands, my Lord, not when things are so precarious in the negotiations for King Richard’s ransom. The people are not happy over what they have come to think of as the rapacity of the Crown. You could find them unwilling to provide more than they do now. The people are already paying money to the Church as well as to you and Prince John, and their silver, when they see silver, goes no further than yours.”
Sir Gui poured his cup full again. “No matter. No matter. I was only speculating.” He indicated the door. “I will consider what you have told me. And my clerk will write to the Bishop of Lincoln tomorrow, or the day after.” He did not smile, concentrating instead on the wine in his cup. “I will let you know when my bride is to arrive here. I will send my herald, so it will be official.”
“May God give you many healthy sons,” said deSteny with a bow when he reached the door.
“Yes. Let us pray He does, for my father is counting on it,” said Sir Gui with maudlin self-pity as deSteny closed the door on him and strode away down the corridor.