Written for "Guy's Christmas Crackers," created by @jadey36
"Spare no expense, Gisborne," the sheriff had told him. "I want you to give Buckingham and Spencer a meal to remember."
"Surely, my Lord, a banquet at the castle would suit better?" Guy had replied, hoping to avoid the task.
"Yes, yes, boring...it's what everybody else does. I'm sure you can drum up something special....the personal touch, hmmm? See to it, dear boy. Expect us midday on Christmas Eve."
It was that time now. Guy slumped in a chair by the fire at Locksley, warmed by its blaze. The efforts of the past days had been exhausting, though it could have been far worse if Thornton hadn't overseen everything. Guy looked around, at the holly and ivy festooning beams and windowsills, at the minstrel tuning his lute in the corner. From the kitchen came the aroma of prepared food: succulent meats, a mix of game, geese, and partridge. Servants laid platters of bread and cheese out on the table. He could smell the cloying spices of the wassail, in a bowl by the door. Guy didn't care for it himself; it was Vaisey's festive tipple, a castle tradition.
Instead, he helped himself to the mulled ale. He dipped a goblet into the barrel, shoving aside the apples bobbing about in bothersome fashion. He took a deep draught, then went to look out the window.
The day was dark, closed in by sleet; likely it would snow by evening. No sign yet of his guests. A half hour dragged by, part of another; food was being kept warm, past its best now. The drinks, which had earlier been warm and welcoming, were now cooling. Guy scowled. It would be just like Vaisey to...
....ah, there. Someone was coming. Guy peered through the murk, thought he saw a lone rider. He went to the door to be certain, opening it a crack, and sure enough a horse and rider approached. He closed the door again, and waited. Moments later, the thud of boots, a blast of cold air; candles guttered as the door swung open, admitting the rider.
"Who says I need fingers or toes?" grumbled Allan, peeling off his gloves. Raindrops spattered from his cloak, the candles nearest him hissing and sputtering. "Could do with some of that ale, Giz."
"What's happened?" Guy demanded, ignoring the request.
"Well, you know the prince's lackey arrived a couple of days ago, right? Well, he's still at the castle."
"Sir Jasper," Guy groaned. "So, he'll be here as well?"
"Not exactly. I'm afraid there's no good way to tell you this Guy, but no one's coming. Word came Buckingham and Spencer were invited to London, to dine with Prince John. The sheriff's furious at being overlooked...."
"... it would take him days to get there..." scoffed Guy.
"Try telling Vaisey that. Anyway, he's in a right tiz. You're lucky you've been here. Sir Jasper's not well enough to travel. He's taken to his bed, demanding a physician. Only that fool Pitts got himself killed, didn't he, and that other one, what's his name....Blight....he's taken himself off somewhere. So, the sheriff's sent for you."
"What does he expect me to do?' snapped Guy, watching Allan dip a goblet into the barrel.
"Ah, that's better." Allan savoured the drop, then gulped down some more.
"Bring someone," he went on matter-of-factly, wiping his mouth. "And I can tell you who....she's here in Locksley, she tends to everyone hereabouts when they need it. Her name's Matilda."
"Fine." Guy snatched up his cloak, not sparing a glance for the wasted feast behind him. Deep down, he'd suspected the effort would all be for nothing. That was Vaisey. "Tell me where I can find her."
