Betrayers Game - Final Preview - Ch. 3 Feast of St. George
- Alia Hewitt
- Apr 23
- 16 min read
In the earliest navy hours of the morning, Aidith, Eleanor’s handmaiden, roused her from her sleep to depart from Birchen Edge. She slept with her leather riding shoes on and hooded wools wrapped around her like bed dressings. She whisked off to the carriage without delay. Slowly, another dawn turned to day as they made steady progress on the final long hours to Nottingham.
Two restless nights in dreary, gaol-like chambers of two equally bleak tower keeps left her weary. The castle in the High Peak had the added benefits of a straw mattress and tapestries in the windows to stave off the cold, but only the thought of Nottingham and of her warm, plush private apartments kept her spirits up. Until finally, the grand castle emerged on the horizon, perched on a limestone throne. Eleanor and her father rejoined Robin on horseback to enter the city. His majesty’s single rampant lion banners flew alone over the gates, but they still rose without hesitation to the sight of their Peveril Flag.
At the inner gates which granted them access to the lawns and gardens, there was an abbreviated regiment of Sheildbearers, the castle’s specialized protection force in green and gray livery, standing at attention as they would to any arriving noble visitors. However, when the Peverils crossed their paths, several of the guards placed their shields across their hearts. A dutiful and sweet display of those that Eleanor presumed had served under her eldest brother.
“Have they even met their new sheriff yet?” posed Robin, with a ripe, fresh bruise under his eye.
“I am sure they have. They’re just being respectful,” said Lord Roger. “William was well loved and the castle still falls under the Honor of Peveril.”
“But they don’t fly our banners. Tell me one time a hereditary shrievalty has changed hands without disinheritance.”
“You have to stop,” said Eleanor. “If your face is any clue, you haven’t even been able to talk freely like that in the shires. This is the royal court, you must watch your tongue!”
“I’ve been to court,” he snapped.
“Then, I pray thee, act like it.”
The look of awe that grew upon her father’s face confirmed to her that she had summoned the forcefulness that she hoped. Their mother had drilled endlessly into her how every word said in the walls of Nottingham should be assumed heard by all and with selective context.
“Fine,” said Robin, contemptuously. “I shall try and behave myself.”
She was skeptical. Not for lack of faith in him, but more that her best behavior had never prevented scrutiny and speculation from finding her. At the sight of the castle steward and Captain Hawise of the Sheildbearers waiting in the front courtyard to receive them, Robin put on his most measured face, like he had with Prince John. A herald at the top of the castle steps, blared his horn and announced them clearly.
“Lord William Peveril of the High Peak, Baron of the Honor of Peveril. Sir William Peveril, the Robin, knight of his majesty's Golden Arrows. Her ladyship, Lady Eleanor Peveril.”
“Many gracious returns, my lords and lady” said Captain Hawise, a striking woman of about forty years. “How did you fare on your journey?”
“Very well, good captain,” said Lord Roger, brightly.
“The Feast of St. George will be served at sunset. Of course, some of the court has already begun to gather, this way, through the main hall,” reported the steward, hurriedly going down a list on the scripting table fastened over his shoulder. “If you wish to visit your chambers first, Captain Hawise will be your guide.”
“We d-”
“We’d be delighted to have the captain show us the way,” said Eleanor, cutting right over Robin and his propensity to be contrary. “Our belongings will arrive with our flag guards before long. Ensure that they make it to our chambers promptly, thank you, Master Steward.”
Captain Hawise led the way in step with their father. They exchanged pleasantries as Robin, Eleanor, and their guard followed in succession down the corridor. There were castle chambermaids and valets waiting, so Eleanor was able to begin getting ready even before Aidith arrived with her belongings. Also waiting in her apartments was an ornate little chest containing a magnificent silver gown. The card bore Isabella’s name but Eleanor recognized further invitation for trouble from the king’s brother when she saw it. She emerged last from the privy chambers into the common room where Roger and Robin were waiting. She wore her own mint green silk bliaut and the cream veils which she had just finished embroidering with delicate honeysuckles before they left the High Peak.
“You look incredible, my daughter. Would you like to look here at your mother’s collection? I have something I think might suit you.”
Lord Roger stepped aside to show the large jewelry chest which had been brought out to display on the table in the center of the room. The boxes which had housed the clasps, circlets and chains already adorning the two men were stacked neatly aside. Inside the case her father had selected was a diadem inlaid with pale green stones and decorated with a fringe of golden teardrops.
“This is beautiful, I don’t remember her ever wearing this,” said Eleanor, lifting it gingerly from its silken bed.
“You wouldn’t because she never did. Headdresses gave her headaches,” said Roger. “I was foolish in love and I gifted this to her on our engagement.”
Aidith stepped forward to help Eleanor to place the center of the fringe at the right spot just above her brow and expertly secure the ribbon fastenings into a neat little bow at the nape of her neck as he told his story. Robin lounged in a chair nearby listening contentedly. She and Robin had shared lots of their memories in their months in mourning, but their father had been far more inclined to listen.
“But she accepted it and my proposal, all the same. In time, I learned that giving a beloved gift is far more enjoyable than the politely accepted one. Now, let us be away before that sun is fully gone.”
Light and sound poured out into the courtyard now with the giant front doors of the castle’s main hall thrown open to the approaching night. Without the royal procession there were typically forty nobles and their households who called Nottingham castle home, but during summer, it could accommodate more than two hundred. And entering the grand hall, it was clear that the season had arrived.
There were dozens of pairs dancing upon the polished timber floors and a band of at least six bonny players filling the air with their instruments and voices from a dais on the balcony. Others around the hall drank and conversed loudly to be heard over the jubilations. Robin slipped down into the crowd to seek out his own comrades from the continent where he spent most of his life. Eleanor scanned for her own companions from Duchess Isabella’s service, if not to spot the duchess herself.
“Would you join the walk with me,” asked Roger.
“I would love to,” she said with a deep curtsy.
They joined the gentle stepping dance and Eleanor watched as her father lit up in movement. She was accustomed to long, still afternoons, so other than on horseback, she would not have expected her father to prance. When the song reached its finale, Sir Thorne Harrowgate appeared to request the next dance from Eleanor. He was dressed head to foot in a fine gray suit and cloak with silver latchings, looking far less wild than he did in the High Peak. He asked Lord Roger for her hand, but he passed the decision over to his daughter.
“Just one,” he begged. “And you’ll be troubling me for more, thereafter.”
The safety of the crowd and the delightful tune encouraged her acceptance. It became clear quickly that he barely knew the steps and that he was more interested in keeping her under his palm than dancing.
“This is not a peasant dance hall,” she said, heatedly.
“Oh, but you know of such places?”
She created more distance between them and began to count the steps out loud. Harrowgate cleared his throat and laughed, but within a few moments the repetitive steps became quickly familiar to him. He tried to tell her more about himself, but Eleanor sensed he was ill adept at sharing anything divorced from the battlefield. She searched for her way out. When the song finished she spotted Isabella waving her over. She wished him a hasty good evening and crossed the hall.
The duchess in a pearl slung fillet cap and flowing gauze wimple surrounded herself with beautiful young ladies all draped and decorated with the finest dresses, pins, and jewels.
“My dearest, Eleanor, I am so pleased to see you,” said Duchess Isabella, in the center of the group and draped in indigo velvet.
“Your grace, it has been a long time,” replied Eleanor. “Thank you for keeping correspondence with me.”
“Of course, but there is only so much that can be shared on the page, we must catch up properly and before summer wanes I will have collected you again,” said Isabella, affectionately, as if she were speaking to a favorite kitten. “Was that your little brother who entered with you? Lady Winefride is eager to make an introduction with him.”
“Yes and he is recently heartbroken.”
“Oh, how romantic,” said Isabella, prodding the one who must be Winefride.
“Shall I go to bring him forth?”
“No,” pipped Lady Marian Fitzwalter. “The next number is the Frolicsome Fox, isn’t that one of your favorites, Lady Eleanor?”
“Yes,” she replied.
The falseness in Marian’s voice came through more clearly than any sound so far that evening. Lord Robert Fitzwilliam was the castellan of Prince John’s Bristol residence and his daughter, like Eleanor, had been one of Duchess Isabella’s earliest ladies-in-waiting. Unlike Eleanor, however, Marian spent her nights in her family’s chambers. Not in those which adjoined the newlyweds’ with the rest of Isabella’s ladies. This put a fundamental misunderstanding between them about what others thought to be a shared experience.
“You know she will never relax for herself,” said Marian to Isabella.
“Too right. Surely it was my husband who sics Harrowgate upon you, so I’ll choose your next partner. One more pleasing.”
“Whatever you wish, your grace, I am at your whim,” said Eleanor, energized by her company and that of the women who flitted around her.
Eleanor often missed being among them while sequestered in the High Peak, but never enough to return as Isabella had suggested more than once in her letters. Isabella clapped her hands together and searched the buzzing hall with Marian continuing to titter in her ear.
“Yes, excellent, he’s perfect,” said Isabella in agreement, flagging down someone new from the crowd just as she had done with Eleanor.
A man whom she had never seen before dressed in a mustard tunic with brown block-stamping emerged and presented himself to Duchess Isabella with a deep bow. Judging by the still and serious look on his face, Eleanor doubted this particular gentleman had any experience with her machinations. Marian took the hand of Winefride and breezed haughtily past the new arrival.
“This is Sir Gisborne,” said Lady Isabella. “He is newly arrived from York.”
“Welcome to Nottingham, sir,” said Eleanor, dipping into a curtsy.
His eyes were golden brown and brimming with curiosity as to what he seemed to have invited upon himself; “Thank you, my lady.”
“Have you had the pleasure of meeting my darling friend here?”
“No, will you be doing me the honor, your grace?” he mused, offering his hand to Eleanor.
Upon his fingers was a solitary golden ring with a perfectly round amber stone, but he turned her own bejeweled fingers towards him and placed a chivalrous kiss upon her knuckles. He was simply handsome and far more well-mannered than Harrowgate, so Eleanor managed to accept his token unflustered.
“Oh, indeed, Lady Eleanor Peveril, please be formally introduced to Sir Leofric Gisborne.”
“Pleasure,” he said with a nod, but his face had changed.
He let go of her hand and turned back to the duchess. It was clear to Eleanor that he recognized her family name with how it set his jaw to clench. She couldn’t remember any Gisbornes from that region or any others, but there were a lot of names and even then the pages she read lacked many of the new lords.
“Duchess Isabella, you seemed to be calling me over before,” said Gisborne. “May I inquire as to that matter?”
As if by design, the song concluded and the dancers as well as Isabella and her ladies erupted in applause. Eleanor watched as the pieces began to fall together for the poor gentleman and tried not to smile, but it was too late for him to recede now as it seemed he felt inclined to do.
“You may,” burst Isabella, gleefully, as her companions chatted excitedly amongst themselves. “Invite Lady Peveril for a dance.”
“I- Surely there is another more suited-”
“Nonsense, Gisborne,” Isabella insisted, as a couple of her ladies were swept away by other gentlemen. “She is the castellan’s daughter and you are new to her fief. Be gracious.”
He bowed to Isabella, then offered his hand to Eleanor again. “Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?”
“I will,” said Eleanor, pleasantly.
The music swelled and though his face was tense, Gisborne moved smoothly through the movements with her. The first time they were close, his lips fell open as if he wanted to speak, but the words failed him.
Only the first time.
“Does she often play games like this?”
“Almost all of the time,” she answered.
This relaxed him considerably and he placed his hands on Eleanor’s waist for the first lift of the dance. For a moment, all the ladies in the center of the hall were in the air. It was a step that even practiced partners would find difficult. She held her breath as he effortlessly returned her to her feet in a motion so fluid she continued right into the next. She let her relief out with a small laugh.
“You seem to be a fine dancer, Sir Gisborne,” said Eleanor. “Most gentlemen know to ignore her ladyship’s call unless they are in search of a beautiful woman.”
“I was luckily unfamiliar. I do love to dance, but I am only recently acquainted with the Duke and Duchess, as I don’t travel with the court.”
“No?”
“No, I arrived a fortnight ago,” he continued. “When it was rumored that your family would not likely be in attendance tonight.”
“Are you the type to put great stock in rumors?”
This comment was over his shoulder as she passed around behind him. She watched as it brought a smile to his lips, flashing creases in his cheeks just at the edges of his mustache.
“I am not,” he admitted. “But I know who you are, so I simply wonder how you come to be here in my arms so early in the night.”
“Did you have some intention for later?”
“I would have preferred a more honest opportunity.”
He lifted her up again as the music crescendoed for the last time. She raised her shoulder to her cheek, feeling the flirtatious heat rising between them. He twirled her under his arm and away, his fingers trailed along the edges of her veil so that it flowed back towards her to the trill of the flute. A flourish of his own invention. The final steps moved them rhythmically to where they began, in neat rows with the other pairs. Gisborne applauded towards the band and was clapped on the shoulder by a neighboring fellow, a castle chancellor who seemed to recognize him. Eleanor cupped her face in her hands as the lady beside her fanned them both with her feathers.
Gisborne held her eye for a long moment with playful intrigue, but then bowed his head and left the floor without another word. Ladies Maud and Winefride descended up Eleanor and dragged her away, questioning her about the pinkness of her face and where they could find Robin as Marian had abandoned them. She skirted them when they discovered him already on the dance floor with Marian Fitzwalter.
She found her father in a side chamber chatting by a fireplace with Meurig, dressed as usual in the black talbert of his station as Bailiff of Nottingham, though he had been serving ardently as interim-sheriff for over a year.
“It was stamped out in the stable, just as he told me it would be,” said Roger with a reminiscent smile. “I do remember that.”
Meurig laughed. “Your son was a fine, fine man. I always thought very highly of him.”
“You can say that he was your friend,” remarked Eleanor. “William always called you his friend.”
“Lady Eleanor, good to see you.”
“And you, Meurig.”
Meurig was always very fond of Eleanor when she was a girl around the castle. He had squired for William until he received his own knighthood. Their companionship made no man better suited to aid him as his second-in-command when William received his appointments from King Henry II.
“Prince John has a big announcement planned for the new sheriff, but Meurig was about to tell me what he knows, so we don’t have to be part of the spectacle,” said Roger, handing his half full goblet to Eleanor.
“Yes,” began Meurig. “Never seen more of a monster with an axe, wields it like a feather. You can’t knock him down, but he came up with the Archbishop of York so he got great training and they fought together for his late majesty.”
“So a knight and not a lord,” noted Roger.
“That’s right, knight and commander in Brittany. He’s got a manor house there, but no land titles.”
“Robin may actually like that,” teased Eleanor as the warmth of the wine lit her up inside. “Appointment on merit.”
“He seems to be an alright chap. He’s actually already been here a…about a month, but Prince John wanted to announce it himself, so only the guard knows, officially. I say, he knew it was the only way to draw you out.”
“His influence certainly affected my course of action,” said Roger. “And his name?”
“Sir Leofric Gisborne.”
“Gisborne?” she repeated in shock. “Really? Shaved cheek with a mustache? Maybe just thirty years?”
Muerig laughed. “He told the men he’s twenty-six. You haven’t already met him?”
“I think Duchess Isabella just paired me to dance with him as a jest.”
“Really,” said Muerig. “You danced with him?”
“Unless there is another Gisborne of York here, it was most likely him.”
“Was he a respectable dance partner?”
“Yes, pa, a perfect gentleman,” she said as Muerig continued to huff with laughter. “He didn’t tell me he was sheriff, but he did initially find it impertinent that we be paired up.”
“Did he? Then he has some sense to be sure.”
The music fell in the great hall, but this time the quiet after the applause was replaced with fan fare. Meurig excused himself, telling them it was time. All the guests pushed into the hall, looking to the front where Prince John joined his wife. An expectant hush fell over the crowd as the trumpets fell silent. A short play retold the slaying of the dragon by Saint George using a great puppet piloted skillfully by three courtiers. The players received their applause when all was through and Eleanor recognized her cousin, Sir William de Ferrers, as Saint George himself and his wife Alice among the dragon players. But they hurried away as a second hush fell and Prince John stood before them in a luxurious purple and black suit.
“Thank you, fine gentleman, lords and ladies, trusty cousins. The summering of his most courageous and honorable majesty’s court is a capstone in the continuing tradition of this great kingdom. It’s my immense privilege to carry out these duties so graciously bestowed upon me in service of my brother, King Richard the First and the Lionhearted, and his realm just as his majesty embarks on his journey in service of God.”
“What a prick,” murmured Robin, appearing behind them, suddenly.
“Additionally, by command of the king, I have a new appointment to announce.”
He held out his hand and his squire handed him a scroll with a golden tassel bearing the giant, red wax seal of the rampant lion. Beside the squire was Sir Gisborne, donning now a crossed brooch in his roundlet cap as well as a chain of gold rectangular brackets decorated with pearls and shiny black enamel. He had certainly not been wearing these items before as they were symbols of his station and she would have recognized him as sheriff on sight.
“On this day, the twentieth of April, in the year of our Lord eleven-ninety one, his highness, King Richard the First, hereby bestows the honorable position of Lord High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, and the Royal Forests, upon the good knight of the realm, Sir Leofric Gisborne.”
He stepped to be beside Prince John as a polite applause swept through the hall. Gisborne stood with his hand crossed in the back, showing clearly that he had no desire to speak to the collective. John carried on; “The strength and stability of this great county has been maintained for over one hundred years. You have already made a solemn oath and have committed to maintaining this legacy, is that right, Sir Gisborne?”
Gisborne nodded his head. At that moment, he found Eleanor’s eye clear through the crowd and she felt heat rise to her face again. She was surprised with her own reaction but was careful not to smile and looked away with hope that no one would notice.
“Then, I believe we are all in capable hands and you may rest assured that the midsummer feast will be bountiful. Let us all enjoy the rest of this night's festivities! Good? Allez!”
The players struck themselves up with renewed vigor. Eleanor drew back away from the crowd with her father.
“Shouldn’t we get formally introduced?” said Robin, following them away.
“In due time, look how others have already swarmed him. There is no need to make haste.”
Robin and Eleanor followed Roger and he guided them into the next room where there were rows of tables loaded with salted meats, stewed vegetables, and other feasts. They settled into one row and began to eat. Soon they were joined there by the Ferrers. Wils still donned his paper mache helm of St. George.
“A new sheriff at last,” he said, scornfully.
“What a bitter year it has been,” said Alice, stroking her husband’s arm.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Robin. “When was the last time someone from outside our house held this position?”
“Right around the Battle of Hastings,” replied Wils.
Robin roared with laughter, while Wils maintained his look of dejection.
“You look sad in your victory Saint George,” remarked Eleanor teasingly.
“Aye the dragon is slain, but I am still to be martyred for my humble faith,” said Wils with his hand to his heart.
“We are happy to see you all back at court,” said Alice. “It can be downright dull without you.”
“And she wastes no time in dazzling us,” said her husband in agreement. “What did you learn about him?”
She strategically took a bite of meat and shook her head dismissively.
Robin pressed; “Who?”
“High Sheriff Gisborne, of course.”
“What do you mean, Wils? Father has not made his introduction yet, why would she know anything?”
“Didn’t you see? Duchess of Gloucester set them to the floor together practically the moment your sister walked in,” said Alice, absolutely beside herself at getting to divulge the news to Robin. “They were quite a stunning pair.”
“She introduced him only as ‘Sir Gisborne’, so I had no idea who he was until a moment ago when he joined Prince John.”
“Come on, be a bit more colorful than that, dear cousin,” said Wils. “What did the two of you talk about?”
“What do you and Alice talk about while dancing?” quipped Eleanor. “The loveliness of the room and other frivolities, we had only just met.”
“Very clever.”
Then Wils leaned down and addressed Roger, his uncle, in a hushed tone. The clatter of dishes and conversation all around them made it hard for either Eleanor or Robin to make out what he said, so they watched their father’s reaction closely. Roger clapped his hand on his nephew's shoulder and gave him a wink, then a fatherly shake back to standing, which seemed to rattle him a little.
“Will you join us?” asked Eleanor.
Wils adjusted his collar; “No, we’ve already ate.”
“And it’s my turn to be swept away.”
“Splendid tidings, cousins.”
“That is the prick,” said Roger the moment they were well out of earshot.
“What did he say?” said Robin, amused at his father’s brashness.
Roger grunted and did not answer, returning his attention to his plate. The Ferrers weren’t the last of their friends or acquaintances to stop by their table to speak with them briefly before continuing on with their evenings. Among the good tidings and the gossip, they all had their fill. Finally, when Prior of Newstead openly supposed that Robin could have been sheriff, he renewed his appeals to be introduced to Gisborne.
“I think you’ll find that your waiting is nearly complete,” said Roger, wiping his hands and tracking something behind them.
“Aye, make haste!” said Robin, popping to his feet.
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