Post of the Month

~ February 2007 ~

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The Sheriff ~ Written by Esther.  Posted on the HoS Yahoo group January 2006.

Robert de Rainault looked down at the chequered cloth spread before him. The felt was new and stretched the length of the table, right up to the wooden rims that edged it. Piles of counters and coin were set upon it like a giant chessboard; the only sound in the room the noise of the counters being moved and piled against each other by the clerks and the soft mutter of their tallying.

At the far end of the table sat Justice Langley, dozing in the heat of the afternoon, his head fallen forward against the large roll of fat made by his chins. The fleshy cushion wobbled as he snored.

De Rainault had been sat here for three hours in the soporific heat and he was bored. Through the window slits high in the wall came the shouts of children playing a game upon the green outside the Hall. Rafters stretched above him like ribs, layered with dust and cobwebs and covered with ancient thatch. Lining the walls nearest him were high cupboards, one door left ajar by a careless clerk, giving him a glimpse of England's wealth; rows of manuscripts, rolled and tied, piled atop each other like pipes.

He'd been called to attend the King before Easter and ordered to follow him down to Westminster for the Whitsuntide meeting of the nobles and lords. John had then instructed that Nottingham's taxes be bought to the Exchequer for reckoning. The audit, not due until Michaelmas, had caught him unawares. He had dispatched an order to Gisbourne that the taxes were to be sent down, but had no way of telling him the whole story - that the taxes, kept in a chest in his chamber, were short.

"My Lord Justiciar?" One of the clerks halted his work and called softly.

De Rainault's eyes snapped back to the dozing man at the far end of the room.

"My Lord Justiciar?" the clerk repeated, louder this time, the tally stick in his hand shaking slightly.

Langley snorted loudly and jerked his head up.

"Yes? Yes?" He blinked stupidly around him.

"The audit is still short, my Lord."

All eyes in the room followed the Justiciar's head as he turned to de Rainault. "You've had your recount, de Rainault, and it tallies with the first accounting held - " Langley lifted a piece of parchment, bringing it close to his face to squint at the black, spidery writing that crawled across it. " - three weeks ago today."

De Rainault fixed a thin lipped smile across his face. He had "borrowed" some of the tax money for an unexpected investment opportunity and his prolonged attendance on the King meant he'd had no chance to replace it. He'd known the counting would be short even before he'd written instructions to Gisbourne. Yet, he had not dared to put all this into a message for the steward. If such a letter had fallen into the wrong hands and come to the ears of the King...

"Well, de Rainault?" Langley's voice bought him back to the present, to the watery blue eyes fixed on him questioningly.

"Perhaps another recount is in order?" he said, slowly.

Langley slammed his fist on the table, counters and coins spilling from their neat stacks across the cloth. "You question the competency of my clerks?"

"Not at all, my Lord," de Rainault said, smoothly. "I was not at Nottingham when the taxes were sent. I expect the problem lies closer to home." He stood, his chair shrieking its heels across the flagstones in protest at the sudden movement.

Langley let out a throaty, disbelieving laugh. "Are you accusing your steward of common thievery, de Rainault?"

"No, just carelessness."

"Well, whatever the matter of it, the King's instructions are clear. The deficit must be made up before you are allowed to leave the City."

"The King is in the West Country. It may be weeks before he returns here," de Rainault said. "I am needed in Nottingham."

Langley rose and gathered up his parchments from the table. "Not until you have made up the shortfall. Anyway, your steward, Grisburn is it?"

"Gisbourne!" De Rainault ground the name out through his teeth, making it sound like a curse.

"Yes, that's him. I am sure this Gisbourne is trustworthy given his background."

De Rainault moved away from the table and turned his back on the men there. It was no use arguing with Langley. It cost money to bribe an Alderman of the City and he had none to spare. He touched the purse tied to his belt, heard the reassuring crackle of the parchment contained within. This was his lifeline, his only hope of getting himself out of this mess without calling on outside help. If only he could be certain that it would pay off before the King returned.

He was already at the door before the Justiciar's comment registered. He paused. What had the man said about Gisbourne? He turned and found the Justiciar behind him, a sheaf of manuscripts clutched against the paunch of his belly.

"What do you mean "given his background,"?" he said, his eyes narrowing.

"You haven't heard?" A malicious smile pulled at Langley's lips. "Where have you been, man? It's the talk of the City and no doubt the Court too."

De Rainault's jaw twitched but he held his temper. If truth be told he spent most of his days on Billingsgate quay searching the river for a distinctive flag and most of his nights in the gaming houses, trying to win the money to pay his lodgings. And of course, he was barred from Court until he had repaid his debt. He stayed silent and waited for the man to continue. Langley savoured the situation briefly before deciding to put him out of his misery.

"Your steward has been acknowledged by the Earl of Huntingdon...as his illegitimate son."

De Rainault stood frozen for a moment. After what seemed an age his hand groped for the door ring behind him. He felt the coarse grain of the wood, the cool metal ring, the heavy weight of the latch as it lifted. The door swung open and he was through it blinking in bright sunlight. Langley pushed past him, still smirking and bid him good day, but he barely heard him. After a few moments he became aware of the sun beating down on his head and stepped back under the shade of the lintel.

Gisbourne acknowledged as the Earl's son!

Mortimer de Morgan had told him almost a year ago of his steward`s true parentage. It seemed Gisbourne had been making the most of his absence to approach the Earl. De Rainault's desire to be back in Nottingham without delay increased.

Beneath the shade of a sapling on the green the lanky figure of his squire rose and beckoned to a group of boys playing with a leather ball nearby. The squire tossed a coin at the first child to reach him and sent him scarpering towards the stables to fetch de Rainault's escort, then turned and headed over to his master.

"We ride straight back to London, Ailmaar," de Rainault told him curtly as he watched his escort approach.

Ailmaar, a pimply-faced fifteen year old, new to his post and still unable to read his master's moods, bobbed his head nervously and fetched de Rainault's horse up to the steps of the Hall. De Rainault put out a hand for the bridle and slipped his foot into the stirrup and then he remembered; he had seen the Earl of Huntingdon at court, asking audience with the King. Could this have anything to do with Guy's acknowledgment? David was without heir since his legitimate son had slipped into the forest to become an outlaw.

He groaned and swung himself into the saddle. King John had a price for everything. How much would it cost to have Guy's illegitimacy overlooked so that David could hold onto his bloodline? The long ride back into the city became even less appealing. He could already feel the beat of a headache against his temples and now he had Gisbourne to worry about too.