A Black Christmas

Taking Root

Gisborne glanced into the blackness again, blind to what the Saracen wanted, wondering how he had got himself in this predicament.  He cast his mind back to how it'd all begun in the Spring...

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He had been walking with Thornton through the vegetable and herb gardens next to the kitchen, taking stock and making a plan for sowing.  The gardens were modestly planted but in good use; the soil was rich and the bounty abundant.  Guy had looked hard at his manse; he did not consider Locksley his home, but it was for now, and he wanted to show Marian that he could be a good provider.  His attention snapped back to Thornton, who had been speaking about the herb garden.

"What about herbs for remedies?" the knight interrupted.

"We have the essential ones, my Lord," Thornton muttered, suddenly unsure of himself, "rosemary, sage, thyme and so on."

"I don't see medicinal herbs - yarrow, peppermint and such," Gisborne said confidently. "Or am I mistaken?"  He knew he was not, but this was Thornton's domain and for the most part well run.

"No, my Lord," his servant mumbled. "Lord Malcolm let those herbs wither when Lady Locksley died."  It was a decision of Lord Malcolm's that Thornton had not approved of, but he had never dared to mention it to his new master.

The younger man crossed his arms and looked about the tidy plot.  There was space to double the yield without enlarging the garden's footprint. He thought back to his mother's allotment at Gisborne – the layout imprinted on his mind. Guy led Thornton around the large patch, his hand brushing fragrant herbs as he walked, pointing to each gap as he listed what he wanted planting; memories of his home and old knowledge flooding back.  It left him feeling warm and purposeful.

"You have a good knowledge of remedies, my lord," the older man commented.

"My mother kept a fine garden," Guy rasped. He plucked a flowerless sprig of lavender, his brow crinkling as he held it to his nose, and stared absently to one side.

"Forgive me. Does it pain you to speak of her?" Guy could not remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone about his mother. 

"She helped the village wise-woman," Guy murmured, his face softening. "She grew herbs, helped with healing, bringing babes into the world... " He was lost in his recollections, but then his head snapped up. "She was very kind, much like the Lady Marian."  Thornton's eyes rose heavenward – the look thankfully missed by his master.

Guy pulled his gloves from his sword belt. "You've done well Thornton. I want the planting done this week," he said and turned to walk to the stables.

"My lord," the older man called. Gisborne turned on his heel, head cocked. "There are some other things Lord Malcolm & Master Robin let go," Thornton dared to venture. "Things you might like to change?"

"We'll speak when I return tonight," Guy said, pulling on his gloves. 

His servant nodded, well pleased, then picked up a bucket from the footpath and hung it from a high hook high near the kitchen door.  It was something Gisborne had seen Thornton do before, but he did not understand its purpose.  He needed to keep a closer eye on that bucket – Thornton too.

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Over the next few weeks, new herbs flourished and the bucket was hung every time Gisborne left the manor.  It came down whenever he returned; a sign to those in the know that the lord of the manor was in residence.  Guy chose to watch and stay silent, for now.  He was not the dotard people thought him to be.