Aside from Heaven

Installment 03A

The Saintonage War

'So, your first reincarnation was Roland FitzGisborne?'

'Yes.'

'You were your own grandson?'

Guy nodded. 'I have always been a FitzGisborne.

'Did you just know you were Guy from your earliest memories, or did they just kind of... grow on you?'

She was squeezed in the dark. 'My lady, you are a most inquisitive miss.'

Genevieve reared up on one elbow. 'I want to know!'

Guy was deep in thought. 'When I was young, there were... dreams. Repetitive dreams. I remember riding through an overgrown field and having the most absurd feeling that a small hamlet had resided there once, that I had lived there as a young boy and teen. Later, I was told a small village had been there, that Roger Gisborne and his family had lived there before the bailiff dispossessed them and years later Guy of Gisborne had his revenge.' He took a deep breath. 'Later, I had vague recollections of women, Marian, Genevieve – you – I dreamed of you naked in the tub, tied to a table, tied to the bed, handcuffed to the post of a bed... there was a vivid memory of you in a poet's shirt three times your size while standing in front of the fire, pressing a wet cloth to your back.' He smiled. 'Those memories were very... realistic.'

He felt her cuddle in. 'Are you saying I was the cause of your wet dreams?'

'Quite.'

~~~...~~~

Early July, Bordeaux France 1243

It was well past dark and the castle had, for the most part, settled for the evening. Only the council room in the great castle of Bordeaux showed any signs of life. As the dark knight made his way towards the great doors, his footsteps slowed, the sound of his spurs scraping lightly over the stone. Twice, he slunk into the shadows, when the doors were thrown open, advisers storming from within, watching from the adumbration. Time in the shadows gave him time to think, gave him time to replay his last conversation with the angel over in his mind.

The Saintonage War, Guy. Just say no.

Hugh de Langstram was throwing a royal-sized fit and an understandable one at that. The county of Poitiers, which should have been inherited rightfully by his wife's son, was instead given to the French King Louis IX brother, Alphonse, deeply insulting Hugh's wife, who just so happened to be the former Queen of England, and the current English King's mother, Isabella of Angoulême. Royalty did as royalty pleased, but Hugh was calling in every favor from every one with an armed man to his side and was of a mind to force Louis to acquiesce the lands to Isabella's spawn. If everyone came to his call, he would have a formidable army.

Except not half of those he called had come. Oh, Hugh was telling everyone he had the numbers, but truth was, he did not. And the size of the French Army being called up against Hugh was beyond sizable. Even if all of Hugh's friends and allies gathered, it wouldn't be enough men.

Henry was young. In time, he would be known as a diplomat, using persuasion to gain what he needed. But that time had not yet come.

If Roland threw the dice as he should and could convince Henry not to go to de Langstram's aid and withdraw the troops already there, things that belonged to Roland just might be returned. Nottingham thrived, but Locksley and the hamlet of Gisborne were sitting empty of their rightful lord. Roland hadn't been by the area but once since he claimed his inheritance. Over five years! The place had looked like a slum then. No telling how much further into ruin Locksley Hall had succumbed to; even if it were still standing! And it needed to still be standing! Roland's 'grandfather', Sir Guy of Gisborne, had hidden what he could not hide in Ripley's there in the old hall. The hamlet that Sir Guy spent his early years in was gone, nothing left but earthen foundations. Regardless of their state, Roland wanted them in his fist. Not until then, could he begin to rebuild-

There was grumbling, mumbling still within and hiding in the recesses of the shadows, he waited until there was no sound coming from the hall when the doors were thrown open again.

King Henry III stepped through, the fires from within casting a hellish glow about him, the shadow of the man thrown for many feet down the darkened hall. The man looked about the hallway, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, Ghost of Nottingham," he whispered, "are you about?"

"I am no ghost, sire."

The voice came in the king's ear, causing him to jump. Henry jumped back, a hand over his heart. "God's Bones, FitzGisborne!" He reached and grabbed the younger man in relief. "You have frightened the piss out of your king!" His face spread in a grin. "Look, you have made me curse. We must beg forgiveness!" Henry was a pious man, much more than his father or uncle and definitely more so than his grandfather! His patron saint was Edward the Confessor and the man had gone so far as to name his first-born after the old king.

Roland was not so pious, but he was not about to tell the king that. There were things he wanted, wanted badly and only Henry could grant him his desires. He smiled. "Shall we go in and pray then?" He nodded towards the doors.

"You first. I insist." Henry gestured, indicating he would follow the knight in.

Roland nodded. "Sire, 'tis-"

"-unwise that I should leave my back unguarded. There are those who would say it is equally unwise to leave only one to guard my back."

Dark brows drew downward. "Sire, do you doubt my loyalty?"

Henry backed down immediately. "Quite the contrary, my dear friend." With that he stepped forward. "Truth be, you are the only man I do trust with my back." And with that, the two men entered the room, Roland closing and bolting the door behind him.

Prayers and absolution were quickly dispensed with, much to Roland's great relief. Unbeknownst to anyone, he was already in thrall to a much higher power than the King of England and wished to distance himself as much as possible while his corporeal form walked the earth. Pouring both his king and himself a goblet of wine, he toasted his liege. "How is your queen?" The last time Roland had seen Henry's wife, Eleanor, she had begun her lying in.

Henry's face split into a grin. "She safely delivered a healthy girl the end of June! We have named her Beatrice." Although this was Henry and Eleanor's third child, one would have thought it was his first and a son, at that. Henry had a son, Edward, but every man knew the more sons a man had, the better. Girls however, made excellent bargaining chips. Henry now had two. Silently, Roland bowed and toasted Henry's wife. The two men drank in silence, standing in front of the fireplace and basking in the glow and warmth. Upon finishing his wine, Henry stared into the depths of the empty chalice. "What brings you to my war chambers so late, Roland FitzGisborne?" Now, he looked up. "You have been my friend for many years."

This was true. Henry had met young Roland while traveling and resting in Nottingham when the young king was a teen and Roland was scare eight years. Henry's mentor, Hubert de Burgh, was initially amused by the blacksmith's son, who audaciously informed the nobleman and his king that it was his desire to be trained as a knight and he had the funds to do so. That amusement turned into something more tangible when Hugh and young Henry discovered that the boy was the only grandson of Nottingham's most notorious black knight and yes, he did have the funds to pay for his training and education, if he could find someone who would take him seriously. As it stood, some of the priests at nearby Kirksley Monastery had taught the boy to read, write, and cypher; Father Simon insisting the boy was bright, inquisitive, intuitive, and resourceful, in addition to insisting that the nuns in Ripley's convent had proof the boy was who he said he was and Sir Guy of Gisborne made provisions as best he could for his illegitimate off-spring before he died.

Hubert de Burgh made Seth FitzGisborne a promise before they left. If the boy kept up with his studies and if Father Simon thought the boy had the aptitude for it, he would ensure the boy's knighthood and a place to hang his sword. The young King's entourage then left Nottingham and Hubert immediately forgot his promise.

But Roland did not.

Nor did Henry.

Somewhere between then and this night, Roland had proven himself and his loyalty over and over. For one so tall, he had stealth, he kept his ear close to the wall and he knew things, inherently knew things that were happening and going to happen. Unbeknownst to Henry, Roland already knew Eleanor of Province had had a daughter and that the royal couple would welcome two more children into their royal nursery before it was over. Roland knew how much Henry adored his wife and had the moment he laid eyes on her and Roland knew just how much the English despised their queen. Roland knew many things he kept to himself. He stayed in the shadows, did not ask for grandiose accolades. Most of Henry's nobles didn't know Roland existed and the few who did, thought little of him. He asked for nothing, he did not seek attention or public praise, he stayed in the shadows.

Roland was Henry's most trusted spy.

Again, he asked. "What brings you here so late at night, Roland?"

Roland inhaled, choosing his words carefully. He had to do this right. He had to regain physical control of his... his grandfather's lands and title. 'Sir' was nice for a knight. He wanted more. If he did this right, the basis to build a dynasty could begin.

He looked Henry straight in the eye. "Hugh de Langstram does not have the support he would like you to think he has."

"What?"

"Hugh does not have the man power he would like you or anyone else to think he has."

"How few?"

Roland shrugged. "Half. Maybe." He continued, wanting Henry to realize how dire the situation was. "I have seen the might of the French Army. If Hugh does not stand down, Louis will march on Saintes. They will not be able to withstand. More than a few of his barons do not support him."

Henry snarled. "My mother is furious."

"I know."

"Had we not lost the Battle of Bouvines, we would not be in this position! Louis would be bowing to me, not the other way around!" The goblet Henry had been holding was now thrown across the room, bouncing and ricocheting against the stone wall and floor, and rolling under a cabinet. "Poitiers belongs to England! Many of England's kings have resided there! I should reside there! Poitiers is mine!"

"I know, sire."

"Anjou! Brittany! Maine! Stolen from England! FROM ME!"

"I know, sire."

"STOP I KNOWING ME!" Henry was red, furious. Most men would back down, step back, crawl. But not Roland FitzGisborne.

"Sire," he continued softly. "The loss of those lands were not your fault. Perhaps at some point, you might regain them, but not today."

Not ever.

Henry stood with his fists clenched, forcing himself to breathe deeply, calming himself. "You are sure?"

"I have seen it."

"You are sure?"

"If you doubt me, send someone to see for themselves." He then shrugged elegantly. "If I do not tell you God's truth, my head is yours."

Henry was in Roland's face. "Noooo," he hissed under his breath, barely audible. "If you lie, I will strip you of everything and send you back to your little village to your father and I will force that convent to give up everything your grandfather left you for repayment for my putting up with you." He stepped and smiled. "However, if you tell the truth, you will have saved me from great embarrassment and I shall not only compensate you for your information, but I will reward you with something I know you desire and covet."

Roland forced his voice to not waver, to appear uninterested. "And what would that be, my lord?" To the casual observer, Roland FitzGisborne stood before the king, bored, feet apart and his hands behind his back. No one would see the white knuckles and long fingers clutching at the air.

"A title. And Locksley."

~~~...~~~

One month later

Child-bearing had given Eleanor of Provence a maturity she had not possessed when she arrived in England to become Henry's bride eight years previous, at the tender age of twelve. Her husband's subjects had worried she was barren as there had been no issue from the marriage the first four years, but unbeknownst to all, Henry refused to consummate the union and bed one so young, at least not until she was older and at least 'liked him'. Instead, he showered her with gifts, lavished her with attention, took personal interest in her household, and woo'd her in a way most women weren't. His patience paid off and Eleanor adored her husband for it. She was intelligent, appreciated culture and the arts, and she knew when her family negotiated the marriage contract, that her husband was marrying her for political reasons and her family connections. She made sure she was knowledgeable in many subjects, including politics and in the years to come, she would be known as the more politically tenacious of the couple, endearing her to few of her husband's advisers.

But this moment, she was a mother, showing off her newest babe, cradled in her arms.

And trying her damnedest to quietly get her husband's attention!

Finally Henry looked to her, his attention focused on several courtiers. His eyes followed to where her head was jerking to, towards the tall, dark slender knight standing in the shadows, watching the goings on and seemingly unaware he was the focus of the royal gaze. Going to his wife's side, he sent a servant to retrieve Roland from the sidelines.

"Congratulations on the birth of the princess," Roland's voice was quiet. "Forgive me, sire, but I thank God she is as beautiful as her mother." Henry roared in laughter, causing many eyes to rest on the small group.

Eleanor smacked Roland on the arm. "I thank God she is healthy and that it was an easy birth." The queen was very aware that many of her ladies were looking Roland over in interest. Already, she had had to field inquiries; who was he? Was he married? Was he of means? Roland was a handsome man, but every father or guardian would want to know his financial and political situation before allowing his daughter or sister to marry. A handsome man was just a handsome man. A handsome man, if he was without means, could not support a family.

But Eleanor already had plans for this uncommonly fair commoner. She well knew her husband's background and fondness for the knight. Roland FitzGisborne had done her husband a great service and she intended to make sure the man was rewarded most handsomely. Henry was a man, a good man, a good king, and a good father, to be sure, but he was still, a man. He thought as a man and was therefore, in her eyes, not seeing as far ahead as he should. He had been easy to persuade the night before, while her hand was wrapped around his prick, stroking him slowly into oblivion. A title and lands were nice, but Sir Roland needed to be grounded and tied thoroughly to the throne of England. There was truly only one way to do that.

Henry finally settled down enough, only to find a sharp elbow in his side, administered by his wife. He smiled benignly as he watched her lay Beatrice in her cradle. "You have done England a great service with your astute observation regarding Sainte and the lands in Pointiers." His voice dropped. "You were most correct in regards to the lack of support for Hugh and my mother and while it grieved me to withdraw, I will not lose English lives on a lost cause."

"Perhaps at a later date, Sire, England will regain all of your lost lands."

Liar liar, will not happen, not tomorrow, not next month, next year, not ever. In time, France will own and control everything but the island of England itself. But Henry does not ever need to know that.

"Aye! Yes, we count on it. We must plan and pray, but not today. Today," Henry had a finger up and was grinning like a mad king with a poker hidden in his sleeves, "today, we reward you for your service to the crown."

Roland's heart quickened, clutched in anticipation, but outwardly, he was a rock. "Sire-"

"I bestow on you the title Earl of Locksley and grant you the lands formerly belonging to your deceased grandfather. I believe there is a hall and a village that will fall under your earldom." One eyebrow was raised. "Do not make the mistakes your grandfather made in regards to your loyalty to the Crown."

"My grandfather was a drunk." Guy – no – Roland quickly retorted. His heart seized in gratitude. It is mine, returned to me! I can rebuild, begin this long process of-

"Of course, you will need a wife, the promise of children."

The voice in Roland's head immediately hushed. "Sire?"

"My lord," Eleanor's hand reached out and covered her husband's. "You have rendered your man speechless."

Speechless nothing! Roland hadn't thought that far ahead. He dreamed of Genevieve, who would not walk the earth for over another seven centuries. Of course, he had to marry and sire children, and in order to do that, one had to get partially disrobed and sweat, but...

"Sire, at this time, I have not given thought to marriage. Until a moment ago, I had nothing to offer. I am still young."

"You are the same age as I when I married. Marriage is good for a woman's soul and a man's libido!"

Roland's jaw flapped. "Sire, did you have a wench in mind?" Please, not a child, like the queen was.

Eleanor turned red, but Henry laughed. "Not a wench, but a fair maid, indeed." He began to scan the hall, looking for one in particular. "Some weeks back," he was straining now, looking for Roland's future wife, "I was granted guardianship of Alise of Aigues-Mortes, a young noblewoman. I have been most anxious to procure an honorable and noble husband for her. Someone worthy of her." Not seeing who he was looking for, he called for a servant. "Find Lady Alise."

Guy? You drink like a sot and I'm afraid you'll drink yourself to death. I don't want you alone and I don't want you to die like that. Do it for me.

"Check the garden, my lord," Eleanor whispered. "She is fond of the roses."

"The garden. Check the garden." The man nodded, but before he could turn, Henry continued. "Make sure Sir Roland and Lady Alise are seated together for dinner." The servant finally left, his head full of instructions. "As I stated, I was given wardship of Lady Alise. Her grandfather recently passed, leaving no male heirs and it was requested that I find her a suitable husband." Henry leaned forward. "Her lands yield a delectable grape and the wine is divine."

Do it for me, Guy! I want you to leave this wretched place. Kill Vaisey and then go to France, raise grapes, become a fat drunkard. Do it for me.

"Sire, this is most...gracious and generous, very unexpected-"

"Her grandfather was the Duke of Nîmes. You, will of course, assume that title along with the others that go with it and I fully expect you to keep the province out of Louis' hands!" Henry now rested in his seat. "The Blessed Mother knows, the area has seen enough turmoil with the Catharian idiocy!"

Lands thousands of leagues apart. One in need of rebuilding, the other...

"We would be grateful to simply have our dear Alise away until the area settles," Eleanor whispered. The care in her voice made Roland's ears prick. "You will meet with her at dinner, tonight?"

"Of course. By your leave." Roland bowed started to withdraw, aware that Henry had risen and was now taking him by the elbow and leading him away from the royal dais. "Dress in your finest," he whispered. "Alise is distantly related to several noble houses and Eleanor is very fond of her. She is winsome, although a bit long in the tooth."

"How long?"

"Oh," Henry nodded. "Eighteen."

Sweet Jesu, thank you, not a child. "Practically an old maid."

Henry continued, not paying attention to Roland's dry humor. "She has spent the last years caring for her grandfather. Her mother died some years back and she has run the household, therefore she has some experience with a hall. She is a pleasant young woman and sings beautifully. I believe you will like her well enough."

"How long have you been plotting, Sire?" Grey eyes raised malevolently. "Or am I simply in the right place at the right time?"

"My dear Roland!" Henry grinned. "Plotting? Do you think so ill of your king? I wish to reward you for a job well done! I know your home in Locksley will need serious renovating. I will make sure you have chambers at Nottingham Castle while you have Locksley made ready for her, if you like her well enough. Then you can oversee her grandfather's estates. Despite the uproar and turmoil, her grandfather was adept at staying on the fence and placating the Catholic Church." He clapped him on the shoulder. "I wish to reward you for your service! I do not wish to see you married to a fishwife and I do not wish her to be married to an old man who will not care for her. I will see you at dinner."

Roland nodded, lost in thought, as he left the hall and made his way to his rooms. His servant was there, commanding a bath and laying out formal velvets and silks for dinner. Thomas had been with him for many years and Roland trusted him explicitly. Like Roland, Thomas had a penchant for clinging unseen in hidden shadows and hearing amazing tales that sent the two on harrowing adventures, but right this moment, Thomas was nattering on and on and on about the king's ward who was too old to be unwed. Rumor had it the evening was to be very special.

"Special, my arse!" Roland grumbled. He knew he would someday have to marry, but he had no idea the King of England would arrange one for him beneath his nose.

"Sir Roland?"

"Thomas, I need you to find out everything you can about Alise of Aigues-Mortes. I do mean, everything. Her parents, grandparents, her lands, estates, wealth." He sat on the bed and pulled off his boots. "You have ears in places I do not. What do the servants think? Is she kind, cruel, insipid, a spend-thrift, missing any teeth, is she compassionate? Are there rumors, perhaps a hidden child somewhere?"

Thomas sighed dramatically. "And who is Alise of Aigues-Mortes and why would she be such an interest?"

Roland began to strip. "Apparently, she is to be my bride."

tbc