A "What If" Robin of Sherwood Story originally printed in Apocryphyl Albion
PART TWO
Edmund stared at the stream. It was
moving swiftly, little rivulets of water jumping over
the rocks. There was a noise next to him. He jumped
back slightly, his horse skittering with the
movement. "What?"
"I asked if you preferred to hunt here or to
try a little further downstream?" Peter asked for
the third time. He had been the one who had
suggested some hawking. The June day was clear and
beautiful and he thought it might be good to get
Edmund out of the house, away from Margaret.
Edmund glanced around him. There was a large
field, perfect for rabbits. "Here will do fine."
The next few hours passed peacefully. Peter
watched Edmund closely. The man's movements were
jerky and his head kept snapping around as if he had
heard a noise. It would be as good a time as any
to broach the subject. Peter had always known his
place, a younger son, a squire, a not so spectacular
fighting man, and now a steward. He knew you did
not survive in any of those positions without keeping
your ideas to yourself. He felt he had to say
something though. Since the first time he had
watched Edmund batter his wife, it had become a
near daily event.
He'll kill the child or her, Peter thought.
If I just stand by and say nothing I'll never
forgive myself. "Edmund?" he called out, waiting
patiently for Gisburne to acknowledge him.
"What?" The dark head swung around to look at
him, the hawk on his arm fussing at the gloved hand.
"Margaret is pregnant?" The words came out
of Peter's mouth half question, half statement.
"How perceptive of you to notice," responded
the other man.
"Yes." Not sure how to continue, Peter
paused for a moment.
"Well?"
"Uh, I know it is not my place and all, and
she is your wife, but don't you think you shouldn't
hit her while she's expecting a child?" The sentence
poured out of his mouth, as if speed could make a
difference in the way Edmund would respond to it.
Peter waited, Edmund continued looking at him for
a moment and then turned away. Releasing the bird,
he watched its flight for a moment.
"You are right. It is not your place." The
words were clipped and cold but there was no violence
in them.
They both watched the hawk fly a pass over
the field. Peter waited for a further response
from Gisburne but none came. Well, he thought, I've
done my part. And I'm still standing so I'll count it
as a good day. There was a thunk, followed by a
groan. The steward turned toward the noise. Edmund
had tripped over a tree root. He rushed forward
to help him up. Before Peter could extend his hand
Edmund had jumped to his feet. Edmund then began
to methodically kick the root and continued to
methodically kick it. I think I'll go and fetch the
bird, the steward thought. Maybe he'll tire himself
out after awhile.
The beginning of June
She was sitting on a bench in a warm place
where the sun was strong. There was an embroidery
basket, untouched, next to her. Peter hated to
intrude, hated not knowing exactly what he should do.
He had no place interfering, but he liked Margaret.
"Margaret," Peter's soft voice floated over
to her, "how are you feeling..today?"
Margaret turned to him, a bruise was partially
closing her left eye. "I'm all right,"
Peter sat down beside her on the bench. Running
a hand through his hair, he continued. "It is not my
place to interfere, but is there something that I
could do? To help you I mean."
She sighed and looked straight ahead for
a moment, then turned her head towards him. "Can you
take back a moment of love, Peter?" Not waiting for
an answer, she proceeded. "Can you make the time go
faster?" She brought her hand to rest on the
ever-growing swell in her middle.
"No, I can't." It was Peter's turn to sigh.
"I can't even get Edmund to see that he shouldn't
be hitting you while you're...uh, with child."
"I think he hopes that I will lose the
child," she replied. "Or he may not even care about
that. He simply wants to know who the father is,"
Peter glanced away, embarrassed. He had
been fairly sure that it couldn't have been Edmund's
child. What could he say to her though? She had
committed adultery. If Edmund wanted to beat her to
death, no one would interfere. "Maybe if you told him
who it was he'd leave you alone?"
"If I told him, Peter," she said as she picked
up the embroidery, "what reason would he have for
keeping me alive?"
He ran his hand through his hair again,
nervous. "Margaret, Edmund is, well, not himself."
"Really? I hadn't noticed." Her voice was
tinged with irony.
"I mean, well, all that time in the cell, he
was always in perfect control. Always apart from
everything, so damn cool. Before that, yes, I'd
heard he had a real temper, a real arrogant bastard.
Sorry. Anyway though, since he's been here, well,
there have been times when..." Peter stopped,
unsure how to phrase what he'd seen Edmund doing.
"Margaret, he kicked a tree root for half an hour
for tripping him. He's not in control. He'll
probably kill you anyway."
Margaret stared at him for a moment, then
nodded. "He was always violent, Peter, even before
he left for the Holy Land. Edmund would get
infuriated over some small thing, then hit me. Never
like this though. He's changed."
"Margaret, why don't you go to a convent
until the baby is born? You'd be safe there."
"I thought of that. I don't think Edmund
would permit it. Besides, anywhere that I could hide,
he'd find me." There was resignation in her voice.
"It might be worth a try," Peter suggested,
hoping that she would leave. Not only for her and
the baby's sake, but for what remained of Edmund's
sanity.
"No, no I can't go. I need to make sure that
there is no question of the baby's legitimacy. If
I leave and have it at a convent, people would
suspect the reason," she said, her voice gaining
conviction. "If the baby is born here Edmund will
have to accept it as his."
* * * *
Richard held the parchment in his hand. The
reply to the message he had sent to a friend in
London had finally come. The news was not what he
had hoped. Edmund's behavior since coming back home
had given him great expectations of becoming baron
again. His brother had always been violent, but now
his rages could be directed as much toward a chair as
to a person who had irritated him. Richard smiled
ruefully. Yesterday, after slapping Margaret half
dead in a vain effort to find out her lover's name,
Edmund had suddenly become enraged at a tapestry.
He had bloodied his knuckles pummeling the tapestry
and the underlying wall. It had been an amusing
sight for Richard. His brother was mad.
Unfortunately, according to his friend, to have
him declared imcompetent and for Richard to inherit,
a petition would have to be made to the Crown, followed
by a lengthy investigation. "Plan on the whole affair
taking over a year," his friend had warned. "And there
are no guarantees." Inheritence was a very touchy
matter and the rule of primogeniture not easily
overturned.
Therefore, Richard concluded to himself, I will
have to find another way of removing Edmund. He took
out a clean piece of parchment and started composing
a letter, this time to another friend, which in his
mind meant somebody who owed him a favor, one who knew
the Kent family well. Margaret had been staying with
the Kents in London. It was possible that somebody
there might have an idea of who the father was.
The possibilities were interesting.
The Middle of June
Richard reached out and speared a large chunk
of meat with his knife. He glanced around the table.
Edmund sat at one end, turning a slice of meat over
and over on a plate. That idiot Peter was sitting
near him drinking half a glass of wine for every bit
of food he took. And Margaret, that wonderful
opportunity of a woman, was attempting to chew a small
piece of food around a swollen jaw. Dinner was
unexpectedly quiet. After nearly a solid month of
trying to beat the identity of Margaret's lover out
of her, Edmund appeared to have lost interest.
Personally, Richard couldn't believe that there was
anyone who could last through repeated onslaughts of
his brother's rage without caving in. Margaret was
far stronger than she appeared. That was another
factor to consider.
The younger Gisburne brother considered his
situation. Gisburne would be his again. There was
no chance that Edmund's unexpected resurrection
would interfere with that. He had experienced a
period of indecision. The pieces to the puzzle were
all sitting around him. All of them too numb to even
be aware of his plans. But how best to achieve his
goal? Richard looked around the table, ticking off
each piece. Edmund, growing more obviously insane
daily. Margaret pregnant with some other man's
child. Edmund enraged by the thought that some other
man had managed what he could not. Margaret
suffering violent beatings, sure to lose the child,
her life or both. Peter, a....
"Peter, leave the table if you're going to
fall asleep," growled Richard, afraid his dinner was
going to be ruined again by snoring. What to do, what
to do? he pondered.
It is July
The fire danced as the poker stirred it up.
Edmund had been looking at it so intently, his eyes
were burning from lack of moisture. It was really
too warm for such a big fire, but he had wanted one.
The low crackling noise it made was soothing. His
body's nerves felt as if they were contracting from
being stretched out. There was only quiet in the
rooms around him. No one would dare disturb him.
They feared irritating him. Not even Peter, who would
dare disturb the devil himself, in hell, if he felt
the need for conversation. He smiled slightly, put
his arm across his chest and patted his back. That
felt good. As long as he stared at the fire, he
decided, he would feel good. As long as there wasn't
any noise to disturb him he would sit here and be at peace.
The End of July
"Peter," Richard called out, "I need to speak
to you."
"About what?" The steward disliked Edmund's
brother. Edmund may be a crazy violent bastard, he
thought, but at least you can trust that that is
exactly what he is.
"Edmund's beaten Margaret again." The
younger Gisburne brother dropped his voice low and
spoke in a conspiring tone.
"Oh," came the other's reply.
"We have to do something, Peter. He will kill
her next time."
And exactly why do you care? Peter thought,
trying to decipher the other man's motive. What the
hell, he thought. Might as well just ask. "Why do you
care? You don't even like Margaret. For that matter,
you don't even care for your brother. Don't think I
don't know you'd like to have Edmund declared incompetent
and the land turned over to you." Peter watched as
the other man's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I know about it.
You're not the only one with your ear against the wall."
"I see that you are cleverer than I gave you
credit for. Yes, I want the land and title. Do you
think Edmund is really capable of managing it?"
Peter shook his head in reply.
"To make my case before the King will take
months, maybe over a year. Margaret will not live
that long."
"What do you propose? It seems to me that her
being killed by Edmund would only strengthen your
case," replied the steward.
Yes it would, thought Richard. Only it would
still take nearly a year to petition the Crown. I
have no intention of waiting that long. There's a
far simpler way and then I won't have to fear Edmund
regaining his sanity. He came back once from the dead
and I have no intention of that kind of bad luck
happening again.
"Margaret has powerful friends. I do not wish
any complications in securing Gisburne."
"So?" prompted Peter.
"David of Huntingdon is Margaret's friend.
They have known each other for years. He will come
and take her away from here. More importantly, he's
not afraid of what will be said about it."
Peter considered Richard's words carefully.
He felt uncomfortable about bringing in anyone from
the outside. It felt like a betrayal. True, he and
Edmund had not been close despite all the time they
had spent together. Gisburne was not one to have
close friends. Still, the man was his employer and
Peter owed him some loyalty. Maybe though, with
Margaret out of the way, Edmund will get better. And
it was probably Margaret's only chance of living
until the birth of her child. He ran his hands through
his hair and sighed. "All right, we bring in
Huntingdon."
"I knew you would do the right thing,"
responded Richard, smiling slightly. "You can leave
at first light tomorrow. David is in London."
"Why am I going and not you? He is your brother."
"I will remain here and make sure that he keeps
away from her. You do not seem very effective in
that department," Richard said, his last words said
more softly to increase their impact.
"No," came the even softer reply, "I suppose
I'm not." Peter continued, "One thing, Richard. Is
David of Huntingdon the father of Margaret's child?"
"How would I know Peter? I make a practice
of never listening to the gossips."
* * * *
The ride to London had been good. The summer
weather had brought a dry spell and there was no mud
or bad roads to contend with. Peter had made the
journey as quickly as possible. Now that he was here
he felt less sure of himself. Richard had told him
the most likely place to find Huntingdon. The man had
not been hard to find, but now to talk with him...The
steward had been running the sentences over in his mind,
so that he could get them out quickly.
"My lord will see you now."
Peter entered the room. David of Huntingdon
was sitting on a rough chair with several parchments
in front of him. There was another man with him.
He walked towards them. "Greetings, my lord," he
said formally, "my name is Peter of Munques. I am
steward for the Baron Gisburne. I have an urgent
message for your ears only." He stared pointedly
at the man sitting next to Huntingdon.
At the mention of the name Gisburne, David had
turned white. Without speaking, he gestured the
other man out. Neither man spoke until the door had
shut firmly. "What do you want?" David asked.
Peter inhaled deeply and began his mentally
rehearsed speech. "You are a friend of Margaret of
Gisburne. She is in very grave danger."
Huntingdon opened his mouth, then quickly
shut it. Thousands of questions wanted to come out
at once. How is she in danger? Where is she? What
can I do to save her? But he stopped the questions.
She could not be his wife. He could not have anything
to do with her. He carefully controlled his voice
to speak. "I am sorry to hear that. Is there nothing
her husband can do for her?"
"Her husband is the danger, my lord," replied
Peter. "He has been badly beating her."
"That is unfortunate. However, what can I do
about that? It is not my concern what one man does to
his wife." David heard the proper words coming out of
his mouth. He was surprised that he could even say
them, his chest was so tight with pain for her.
Doesn't he care? Peter asked himself. From
what little Richard had told him the morning he
had departed, he knew that in all likelihood David was
the father of her child. At the very least they had
been close to one another. "Don't you care that he
may kill her?"
"As I have said, it is not my affair. Is
there anything else?" responded David, his hands
tightly gripping the arms of the chair. Margaret,
Meggie, oh, Meggie, why didn't you come with me before?
How can I save you now?
"I see, my lord." Peter's words were clipped
and angry. He turned on his heels and walked towards
the door. "I suppose then that you also will do
nothing for the child that she carries?" Peter turned
back toward Huntingdon.
"Child?" he asked, disbelieving.
"Yes, child. One due to be born soon."
David turned his head away for a moment.
Thoughts crowded in on him. She must have known that
she was pregnant before she went back to Gisburne.
Why did you do it Meggie? he asked himself. The answer
he already knew. Their child would never have been
considered legitimate. She had left him because
there would have been no way for the child to bear
his name. There was nothing to be done, he decided.
Nothing to do but sully both their names and their
child's. Nothing to do but go and take her away from
that beast Gisburne. He turned back to Peter and
stood up. "Come on."
"Where?" Peter asked.
"To Gisburne, and damn what anybody says."
* * * *
"My lord, riders approaching."
"About time," Richard replied. He'd calculated
that if all went well, Peter should be returning with
David of Huntingdon today. The plans he had made
were finally bearing fruit. If everything went well,
he would be baron again by nightfall. "Boy, go and fetch
the Lady Margaret. Bring her to the great hall," he
ordered. Then he went to find his dear brother. It
was not a difficult task. Since Peter had left, Edmund
had not stirred out of his room. He walked the short
distance to the room and entered it. It was like
standing next to a smithy. The heat hit him like a
slap. Edmund was sitting in a chair staring at the
fire as if possessed by it.
"Edmund," he called. There was no response.
"Edmund come on downstairs. It is time to eat." He
grabbed his brother's shoulder and guided him to his feet.
* * * *
"Where would she be?" David asked Peter, as
they entered the castle.
"Probably in her room or the sewing room.
I'll find out." Peter glanced around for a servant he
could ask. He was desperately hoping to get Margaret
out of the castle before Edmund was aware of what was
going on. Perhaps if she disappeared without his
knowing, he wouldn't think of her for a long time.
That would delay explaining what had happened. And
Peter certainly didn't want to have to explain it to
him. "Blodwen," he called the curly-haired house servant
over. "Where is the Lady Margaret?"
"I just saw her go into the main hall." she
answered.
"And where is Sir Edmund?"
"He's been in his chamber since you left, sir."
"Good, I think we might be able to get her
out without him knowing," he said to Huntingdon,
leading the man to the main hall.
Peter opened the wide double doors that led to
the great hall. He immediately saw Margaret sitting
on a bench directly in front of him. David pushed past
him, moving toward her.
"Meggie, are you all right?" asked David,
kneeling before her. He touched the nearly healed
bruise on her cheek. Her face was pale and drawn.
"David, why are you here?" she asked, her
voice breaking. How could he come here? I'm so tired,
David. I've nearly succeeded. Not much longer and
the baby will born, here. He'll be born at Gisburne.
There won't be any questions.
"I've come to rescue you and my child,"
responded David, puzzled by the reticence in her
greeting.
"Did you hear that, Edmund?" Richard called
out. He and Edmund had been out of direct sight of the
door. He pushed Edmund towards David and Margaret.
"Did you hear, Edmund? He's the father of her child!
The child you could never give her."
Edmund heard the noises. They were hard to
decipher. He listened to them again in his mind, trying
to make sense of them. It was so cold down here.
So that is Edmund of Gisburne, thought David,
taking note of the pallor of Edmund's skin and the
trembling. He looks ill. He doesn't look like he will
even have the strength to interfere. Huntingdon took
his wife's hand, "Come Margaret, we are leaving this
place."
This needs more prompting, Richard decided.
"Edmund," he shouted at his brother. Edmund flinched
back from the noise. "Are you not man enough even
to fight for your wife? Can't you hear them laughing
at you?"
Why is there so much noise? Laughing, always
laughing at me. I'll show them not to laugh. No one
can laugh at me. I hate it. I hate that, hate that,
hate that, hate that, hate.
The attack came so swiftly Peter barely had time
to jump out of Edmund's way as he lept toward David
and Margaret. Edmund's momentum carried him into
David, knocking the other man sprawling. David's
head contacted the stone floor. "Shut up, just shut
up!" Edmund yelled, grabbing Margaret by the shoulders,
then slapping her hard across the mouth.
Peter grabbed Gisburne roughly from behind,
wrenching him around. Edmund's grip was torn from
Margaret, his yelling inarticulate. Peter found
himself trying to hold on to the wildly shaking
Gisburne. "Richard, help me!" he called out.
David struggled to get up. The breath and
sense had been knocked out of him. Only for a moment,
but in that moment he watched as Edmund arched his back
and threw off Peter, the other man tripping over a
bench as he fell. Then Edmund started to reach
towards Margaret, his fist smashing into her cheek and
nose. Blood arching out, spattered across the floor.
His body came back to his control in an instant. The
knife loosened from its sheath. David flung himself
towards the scene, ramming Edmund away from Margaret,
one of Gisburne's hands still holding on to her
shoulder, the knife buried in his abdomen.
Edmund looked down at his stomach, surprised
at the pain. His rage fled from him, leaving him calm.
He wished there was a fire. It was cold down here. He
slid to his knees. Peter rushed over and helped
support him. Edmund looked at his wife. "Why did you
laugh?" he asked, the last word being followed by
an explosion of blood from his mouth.
Peter lowered Edmund all the way to the floor.
He glanced toward the side of the room. Richard was
sitting on the bench, arms folded across his chest.
The steward sighed. He'd seen enough death in
Palestine. The sight no longer affected him much.
There was nothing to be done anyway. I should have
been more careful, he thought. Insanity often runs
in families. Now I'll have to find another position.
* * * *
"My lord,"
"Yes," David said anxiously.
"You have a son, my lord. A healthy boy."
The midwife smiled as she presented the baby to him
for inspection.
"His name will be Robert," declared David.
He called out to a small figure dozing on the bench.
"Guy, come and look. You've got a new brother."
A very small blond boy got up and walked
sleepily over to David. He peered intently for a
moment at the small bundle David was holding.
"That's it?" he piped up. "He doesn't look
like much."
