Aside from Heaven

Chapter 3E

Of memories and legacies

'Okay, so you got married; I figured you'd done that more than a few times.'

In the dark of the night, Genevieve couldn't see the smirk on Guy's face. 'Genevieve, I have been honest with you. I married each lifetime.'

'Not every lifetime! You were a nun once!'

'I was married to the Church.'

Genevieve went into coughing spasms. 'Yeah, right.'

'Heathen.'

Once she got under control, she continued. 'So Henry, John's son, married you to some orphaned sweet young thing and had lots of little Gisbornes.'

"Eight, to be exact." He didn't tell her two died their first year, one within days of birth. Both he and Alise had taken their deaths very hard.

'But you didn't tell me what happened to Robin's Gang? Or Joffrey or Timothy or Eleanor or -'

'If you will cease talking, I will tell you.'

'I am listening.'

~~~...~~~

Fall 1246.

Nottinghamshire.

Roland braced himself as he approached Locksley Manor. He knew what to expect, when he came around the corner, he knew what he would see; the same thing he had seen for two weeks. A ramshackle, run-down hall, past its glory days, in the process of being rebuilt. The hall itself had been largely abandoned after Robin and his – Guy's – death, travelers and pilgrims using it as free, open room and board. What was left of Robin's gang, kept it cleared of miscreants for a time after the events at the castle, and Thornton, in his wisdom, removed the valuables and the Gisborne shields and banners, bringing them to Ripley's. Much had come, some weeks after fetching Annie, and after imbibing too much wine, informed Thornton of Annie and Seth's windfall and Thornton decided that the things held dear by Sir Guy, including the trunk with his parents' things, that he'd found secreted in the old baililff's home, would be safer stored with Seth's inheritance. If Locksley was given to another noble, let them bring their own plate.

Thornton died, waiting for a new master to take the hall. Died taking care and keeping things clean and in place. Fiona had no where else to go for a time, so she stayed as well, cooking for weary travelers who paid what they could. The table, the bed, both of which had been sacred to Sir Guy, were kept, now scarred, nicks and etched, crude drawings on the table top, the bed's mattress, horribly lumpy and uncomfortable.

The hall had not been fit for man nor beast. The hall was certainly not fit for Roland's bride, especially now in her tender condition.

As much as she hated leaving her old home, she insisted that some day, they would return to it, but first, she wanted to see her new home, in England.

But for how, the rebuilding of Locksley was on Roland's mind. Things had been hidden there, things Guy had hidden there and Roland needed to make sure they were still there. And he needed to look when no one was around.

That meant at night.

Roland hired local carpenters to rebuild and repair the home. Craftsmen to remake the windows and bars. No one caught him inspecting the window in the master bedroom, fingers tracing the grooves made from a long ago arrow, an arrow that embedded itself in the tender flesh of a woman he tried hard not to think about often. Especially when he lay with his wife. Initial fondness had grown into something more, something he decided he was going to fully enjoy. The Angel told him to love her and he did.

Several of the workmen refused to work in the home after sunset, said that something walked the halls, something wailed. Roland scoffed. That ghost had not walked the halls during his lifetime and would not return until after he died. But peasants were superstitious. He made a mental note to find chains in his next after-life and make sure he stalked around screeching at certain homes.

The older peasants tiptoed around him, remembered Sir Guy. Fine. As long as they gave proper respect and obeyed his laws and the king's laws. The current sheriff was a mouse compared to Vaisey. That was a good thing; he cowered before Roland and that was how he liked it.

There was a heaviness in the air, as he traveled, the promise of a long storm on the wind. Yet again, Locksley had an old wise woman, one whom everyone adored and revered. As he stopped in front of the hall and dismounted, he called to one of the stone masons. "Fine weather, I see. What is Old Matilda say?"

Alfred was grizzled and chiseled as the rock he worked. He spat to the side. "Her says rain comin' 'fore noon an' it stay 'til late." He looked up towards the sky. "Least t'thatch be doine. The inside be almost done tew."

Roland stepped back to inspect the house. The stone bricked front was almost complete across the front of the home. "How much longer before I can bring my wife to live here?"

Alfred was rubbing his stubbly jaw. "Ah. Tew weeks? Still have the chamber room t'dew. Ah shite!" A large raindrop fell on his bulbous nose. "Old Matilda be off by an 'our." He suddenly realized he'd cursed. "Sorry, m'lord."

Roland held a hand out, feeling the weight of the air and hoping that the rain held out. This might work out perfectly. He dismissed Alfred, told him to let the other workers go home and suggested they leave their tools. He found a boy, about ten summers, sent him to Nottingham Castle. "Find the Lady Alise and tell her if it rains, I'll not be home for supper. Tell my manservant, Thomas, to stay with my lady wife and her maid. I will need food from the kitchens. Have Lady Alise to see to it." He watched him run off and lop down the lane. There was something about the child, something familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on it.

Roland then put his horse in the barn. It had to be rebuilt from the ground, as the original barn was fallen in. For not the first time, he saw his former self, fighting and unmasking the NightWatchman, his horror at the realization, the hurt. But it was quickly replaced with visions of Genevieve, combing down Zeus, her laughter echoing in old memories. They were good memories, made him determined to wait and watch.

After brushing down and stabling his mount, Roland entered the manse, carrying saddlebags filled with rags and empty bags. Work was going well indeed. His first-born would come into the world in the Master's Chambers, as she should.

Oh yes, Roland was quite certain the babe Alise carried was a girl-child. Alise might be disappointed, but Roland would not be. He planned to spoil her rotten and marry her to a wealthy lord. Roland had eight centuries to put his finger into every pie in England and France and maybe even Spain, if he felt like it.

The Table sat in the middle of the main room. Roland leaned over it, fingers dragging across the top. Gregory was an excellent carpenter and woodworker and he'd spent days sanding the carvings and crude etchings from the surface. As the calloused tips caressed the wood, he was stunned with the vision of Genevieve tied to the top, spread-eagle. He lifted his fingers quickly as if burned, part of him immediately desiring the woman not walking this earth, the other part feeling guilty for loving his wife.

His pregnant wife.

Genevieve wouldn't want you to be alone. She told you the day the angels took her to buy a vineyard, grow grapes, drink wine, love again.

Would you rather hate your wife?

No.

Roland wandered the manse, inspecting the corners, the furnishings, taking his time. Most of the furniture had to be scrapped, replaced, including the bed that had been in the smaller bedroom. The bed in the master's chambers had been in bad shape, much like the main table, but Gregory restored it to its original beauty. The mattresses and pillows were burned and new ones, sewn and stuffed with new down. Alise had chosen material for bed hangings, in fact, brought silk from Persia, yellow with black designs. In the spring, she would lay out the garden, both a kitchen garden and a flower garden, for her and the children. Their babe would come in the winter. Baskets and other things for the little one were already made, ordered to be made, the manse itself, larger, more rooms added on, for Roland's growing family. It had not the abundance of wealth Alise's home in Aigues-Mortes, nor Nîmes, but in time it would. Sometime, in the far future, much of the wealth at Aigues-Mortes and Nîmes, would be moved and hidden in England, while at another time, unless he figured out a way to hide it, much of the wealth in Locksley and in particular, Ripley's, would have to be moved to Aigues-Mortes.

As he roamed, he negligently picked up tools he would need for later in the evening, laying them on the bed. The boy brought lunch, Roland giving him coin and sending him on his way, just as the storm broke.

Now. Now was the perfect timing.

There were several empty pails laying about and Roland took them through the kitchen and the back door, where large rain barrels stood at the corners collecting water. He filled the pails up and took them upstairs, careful not to spill any water. Taking them into the water closet, he set them gently, again so as not to spill any water, to the side. There were cleaning linens laying about.

The chamber pot was nasty, rusty, and stank to high heaven, so a new one being made. It would be one of the last things installed. In a future life, a rather primitive type of plumbing would be installed, similar to the current plumbing that carried the water from the the bathing tubs to slush marsh outside. Snarling, Roland lifted and removed the chair, the chamber pot, and laid them to the side. There was a reason this renovation was being left to last. Roland had requested it. He had waited for the perfect time to take care of this. Now was the perfect time.

The chair sat up, almost throne-like, with the chamber pot, resting in an enclosed drop. Many years previously, Sir Guy made the empty space in the platform double for something else. Carefully using the claw tool, Roland pried the old nails from the top of the riser. The rotting wood splintered, but Roland didn't care for it served its purpose. It took several minutes for him to remove the obvious lid from the raised podium, revealing the treasure hidden within.

And yes, riches were squirreled away within, in addition to another portion of Gisborne's abundance buried in the root cellar. Sir Guy of Gisborne hid much at the Abbey, but he had been unable to take everything, so he'd hidden it in his home, hidden beneath everyone's eyes. Roland smiled to himself, wondering how many people had sat on the chamber pot, unaware that they sat on a hoard that went beyond many a man's dreams.

The bags stank; were putrid and foul, rotting. Roland dropped them whole in the largest bucket, hearing the metal of coin rattle not only within, but falling through the rotted hide and rolling on the hidden floor. Quickly, he worked, holding his breath against the rankness of the flooring, making sure he rescued every crown, every jewel. He reached in one last time, fingers grasping a chain. As he lifted it, he squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the damned thing.

It was simple, simple silver, simple knot-work, too fine a piece for a peasant, who he had taken it from, in exchange for his blessing on her marriage. The woman he'd gifted it to hadn't cared for it, hadn't cared for him. It was not lost on him that after that incident, when his peasants came to ask for his blessing, they wore nothing fine; no jewelry, no silk, passed down from mother to daughter.

It occurred to him to find the peasant, the peasant's children and return the necklace, but that would invite problems and questions he did not wish to answer. Instead, he put it in a second bucket of water. For a time, he spent time, rinsing, cleaning the coin, the gems, the jewelry, before removing them and placing them in the linens and rags he'd brought up. He hoped the things buried in the root cellar were in better shape. They should be. Only insects and mice would have shat and died on them. He could handle a dead mouse.

Once the items were cleaned and dried, he put them in the smaller pouches and packed them into the saddlebags. When the rain calmed, he would take them to Ripley's and let the Old Skeleton in the Crypt keep watch. The nuns were very kind to Sir Guy, something that would have made him laugh had he known back then.

Strange, what a little kindness would do. Genevieve taught him that.

Roland was brought up by a noise, a noise in the main hall. His head shot up, listening.

"Hullo! Gisborne! I know you're here!"

Yes. Someone was in the main hall.

Leaving the saddlebags in the privy, Roland strode purposely from the room, down the hall and to the balustrade, overlooking the room. An elderly man, leaning on a walking stick and dressed in simple clothing and a traveling cloak stood in the middle of the room, the door open and rain blowing in. His hood was up, covering his face.

His voice was familiar. Roland struggled to place it.

"The floors are new, old man. Close the door behind you or have you no manners?" Roland slowly made his way down the stairs, fingers trailing the banister. "This is a private home. Many would consider it rude or string you up as an intruder."

"It is raining," the man retorted jovially. "And as short the time as I knew them, I do not think either of the previous owners would refuse me shelter."

Roland's hand went to his sword and he stepped onto the main floor. "The previous owners?"

"Sweet Jesu, you're dead! I helped put you in the crypt myself, brother!" The man looked up, yanking his hood back from his face. "Did the devil throw you back?"

Archer? You live? Still?

Roland schooled his features. "I am Sir Roland FitzGisborne, Lord of Locksley. You are?"

Archer was smiling. It was then Roland saw him, saw his brother, recognized and placed a name to the voice. "By the balls of the bull in the pasture, you are not Roland of Whoever. Guy of Gisborne had a pox scar half above his left eye, and damn my eyes, if you don't have that identical scar!"

Roland was torn. He didn't know if he should kill the man or hug him. He leaned back on one hip and crossed his arms. "Sir Guy of Gisborne had a son, Seth-"

"The blacksmith, yes I know. I know about the boon Guy left his son. I saw the boy several times as he grew. Tall, and lanky like Guy, and resembled him in features." Archer shook his head and focused on the freshly whitewashed wall behind Roland. "Haven't seen him in nigh thirty years. I was on my way to see how he and his mother fared when this blasted rain came down. I'm too old to be traipsing about in the storm. Didn't fancy to meet you here."

Roland moved past him, keeping a wary eye, to shut the door, however the lad he'd sent to Nottingham ran into the doorway, two large satchels in hand. "T'lady said yew shuld pay me well, as is rainin'!" He held out the bags.

"And if I do not?" Roland took the sacks from him, the smell of fresh bread and roast rising from them.

"Then she will," the child smirked. "An' she pay me twice as much!"

"Then I suppose I should pay you. Stay put." The order was aimed at both child and visitor. Roland's mind raced as he trotted up the stairs. What to do with Archer? Guy racked his brain, trying to remember if the man he called father or the woman he called grandmother had ever mentioned Archer. The man was his brother, but he must not be allowed to entertain the notion that Roland was anyone but Sir Roland! Sir Guy was buried in the crypts of Ripley's. For not the first time, Roland wondered if he pushed the lid back, would he see a rotted body or nothing?

He should ask The Angel next time she deigned to walk in his presence or his dreams. There were times he looked forward to her visits.

There were times he wished he'd never see an angel again. Especially the one with the rolling, ever-changing eyes. Sir Roland was frightened of few things. He was terrified of Douma!

He strode into the privy and grabbing the nearest saddlebag, dug a purse from it. He removed a small coin of little worth, but would seem a ransom to a child. Roland then replaced the purse and headed down the stairs. The boy was ecstatic over the offered payment and ran back into the rain, paying little heed to the water or Roland's admonishment to not spend it in one place.

"Are you serious?" Archer was incredulous. "That small amount in more than one place?" He leaned on his walking stick. "I would be infuriated over such a trifle."

Roland dusted off the table and set the food pouches on it. Opening it, it was obvious there was enough for more than one person. Clearly, Alise wished for her husband to gain weight along with her. "That is more money than he or his family will see in a month." He began to pull out the food parcels. "Sit. There is enough for two. So you are my uncle?" He broke the bread. It was fresh baked and he handed half to the man sitting across from him. Best to play dumb. "Do you have a name?" He then shut the door.

"I would be your great-uncle. Archer. My name is Archer." He sank slowly into a chair, the ache in his bones and muscles, now obvious to Roland. He tore into the bread with great relish. "Ah. I have not had fare this fine in many moons."

"'Tis just the bread. Wait until you get to the roast!" Roland then took a bite of his own bread, pulling the roast from the bag. "How are you my great-uncle? And why haven't I met you before?"

Archer's eyes were closed, obviously enjoying the taste of the food. The cooks in Nottingham were renown for the excellence of the table set before the sheriff and lords. It was a standing tradition and Roland was courting one of the cooks to leave the castle to cook in his home when it was completed. She was old and crusty, but Alise adored her suckling pig, as well as her apple tarts, and Roland was determined that anything his wife desired, she would have. "I have traveled the world and can tell you stories of the courts of the Holy Roman Empire and beyond. I have been to China and can tell you many things of strange people and customs. Sir Guy of Gisborne was my half-brother. Robin of Locksley, or Robin Hood, was also my half-brother."

"Oh, family intrigue." Roland forced himself to smile.

Archer was now working on the slices of roast. His hunger was obvious, however the man's manners were impeccable. "Guy's mother and Robin's father planned on marrying. Both were widows, or so they thought."

"Oh?"

"Guy's father was a Crusader. Sir Roger. It was thought he died at the hands of the Turks, however, he showed up, surprise, surprise, just as Malcolm and Ghis... Ghis...Ghis..."

"Ghislaine." Roland's voice was whispered. How long had it been since he allowed himself to think of his original mother? His real mother. Hard enough to consider Seth, who was his son, as his father and Annie as his grandmother. He remembered as a young child, sitting in her lap, allowing her to pet and kiss him. She died before Roland was three and by then, her eyesight was failing, which was probably a blessing. Seth didn't remember his father, simply knew that the knight left him a bequest, an inheritance, and a stipend for his mother, who saved it to split equally among her daughters upon their marraiges. Roland's childhood was happy and his teen years a great improvement compared to Guy's. "Her name was Ghislaine." He inhaled, staring into the fire and unaware that Archer was watching him closely. So rarely, he let his guard down and right this moment, it was in shambles. "She was beautiful, beloved. A healer. An intelligent woman." Suddenly, Roland realized what he was saying. "Or so, I learned in my travels to her old home in France."

"Guy?" Roland refused to turn, acknowledge what Archer called him. "I want nothing of yours. Please tell me about our mother."

Roland swallowed, swallowed hard. "Her name was Ghislaine. As I said, she was beautiful, beloved, a renowned healer and intelligent. 'Tis said she and Roger Gisborne loved each other so deeply, she ran away with him to keep from marrying the old baron her father wished her to marry. She was kindness personified. She thought Roger dead, or she would have never lain with Malcolm of Locksley. 'Tis all I know." For a moment, it was quiet, before he abruptly changed the subject. "What happened to Robin's Gang?"

Archer sighed. It was obvious the man across from him was tight-lipped, but it was well known Guy of Gisborne held his secrets close. Perhaps...

"Guy was killed, murdered, in the cellars of Nottingham by his only sister – my half-sister, and she was a bitch, I'll be honest – and by the Sheriff. Vaisey. A nastier man, I've not met. I was not saddened at either of their deaths." He reached for the wine-skin. "I was saddened by Guy's demise. I think I would have liked him. I would have liked to have known him better."

"How did they die? The sister and... Vaisey?"

"Robin blew them to hell and back. Blew up the castle, with them and their men in it." Archer smiled wickedly. "Robin was cut with a poisoned knife and died by sunset. We buried him out in the woods. Don't ask where. I couldn't find the place if I wanted to and I do want to. At least I know where you... where Guy is."

"I know where Sir Guy is."

"I'm sure you do." Archer took a long swig from the wine-skin. "I helped put him there. Quite a legacy he left Seth and Annie."

Roland took a swig from his wine-skin. "And I am grateful for it." The two men sat in silence before Archer continued.

"Little John stayed a few months, before leaving one early spring morning, for France. Seems old Henry's Queen had invited him a year or so before to come to Aquitaine and he took her up on her offer. He wasn't heard from again. Kate left soon after. She took a fancy to one of the stone masons who helped rebuild Nottingham and left with him. Luckily for him, the man was stone deaf," Roland ducked his head to keep Archer from seeing his grin, "as that woman had a voice that would carve granite. On second thought," the man mused, "perhaps that why he took her with him.

"Much remained until he passed, oh, I suppose, a few years back. He married, fathered a hutch of children. Unless I miss my guess, the young one you paid to bring this fine meal is part of his brood."

Ah. So that's why he looked familiar.

Archer continued, unaware of Roland's inner musings. "Friar Tuck stayed a year at the most, before disappearing. Said he'd never stayed so long in one place, too much of the world to see and too much to learn and he'd remained here longer than anywhere. I had hoped to run into him again in my wanderings, but..." his voice wandered off. "Sometimes I think he held too many secrets, knowledge the Church would not approve of and he stayed on the move to keep the Holy See from catching up to him."

Roland nodded, as if simply going along with what Archer told him, but the fact was, Archer was closer to the truth than he suspected. Friar Tuck was an intelligent, learned man, who spent time in not only Holy Libraries in Rome and Constantinople, but in Jerusalem and other cities under Muslim control. He was not a warrior, although he was quite capable of killing a man, or at the very least, knocking one out if necessary. If the Pope had an inkling what the man knew or was capable of putting together...

"A few of Sir Guy's knights high-tailed it from Nottinghamshire soon after the castle came down." Roland wasn't surprised. Guy entered the grove with Genevieve and left it to discover things he had done with Genevieve in residence, were now undone. He'd had to retrieve his family chest from the tanner and again, given their mother's locket to Isabella, only to have her destroy it, in attempts to sow discord among was still in Clun, still raising havoc and Guy wasted no time shipping him to Sir Rodrick.

But this time, Sir Rodrick did not take Timmy's mother.

Joffrey took the boy and according to Guy's dictates, did not return. He stayed with Rodrick, married the widow and took his now mother-in-law with him. He'd done well under Sir Rodrick and eventually became one of his lead knights, something that Roland took great delight knowing. Thomas was Joffrey's grandson and in the generations to come, every knight who became a lead knight or in Soul-Guy's personal service, would be a direct descendant of Joffrey's. It was a partnership of sorts, that Guy, now Roland, would cherish in the centuries to come. Loyalty was a trait that was bred deep and Guy began that cultivation years past, in his personal dealings with an uneducated young man, who was loyal to the bone.

Roland realized Archer was snapping his fingers in his face. "Are y'here?"

Roland didn't blink. "Thinking." His brow knit together. "How did you know I was here? In residence?"

Archer smiled. "Why, Eleanor, of course."

Roland rode by the woman's home yet again; how many times in the last two weeks? Locksley Manse was complete; he planned to move Alise and their staff, including the cook that Alise was so fond of, into the abode next week. He was excited, as was Alise and by the activity from the seed he'd planted some months back, so was the baby girl-child, expected within two moons. Alise was antsy, ready to move and begin preparations for the nursury he intended to keep full with little FitzGisbornes. Already, there was a basket in their sitting room at the castle, blankets, bunting, swaddling, and gowns ready for the newborn.

"My Lord, Sir Guy?" Unlike his previous pass-bys, the yard was not empty. It was a small home, neatly fenced, with things growing in the yard, both showy and practical. Cooking herbs, mostly, but colorful flowers as well. There was a wooden chair in the shade of the home, an elderly woman began to rise. "My Lord? Sir G-"

"Roland," he completed for her. Roland stopped his horse and dismounted, throwing the reins around one of the posts. "I am Lord Roland FitzGisborne."

The woman made her way to the fence to stand in front of him. "I am old, but I am not blind. I have seen children bear strong resemblence to their fathers or mothers, but none as so striking as you." She glared up at him, Roland seeing the young teen, so beloved by Genevieve, beneath the wrinkles. "Aye. You are Sir Guy of Gisborne, every stinking proud inch of ye, I imagine. I remember you!"

Roland looked around, thankful there was no one about. "And what do you remember, crone?"

For a moment, her face darkened, but then a predatory and purposeful gleam lit her eyes. "It's not what I remember, but who."

"And who would you remember, besides my grandfather?"

"Lady Genevieve."

~~~...~~~

Roland quickly allowed the woman to usher him into her home. Despite the smallness of it, it was neat, clean, everything had its place. He watched as she put water on to boil and struggled to pull an old trunk from beneath her bed. It occurred to him to aid her, but he resisted the niggling voice, instead attempting to keep a calm, impervious facade. She threw back the lid and pulling up a chair, began to neatly pull things from it, setting them on the bed.

"This was my marriage chest," she whispered. "From the day I was born and obviously thrive, my mother began to make and add things to it, as did I." Marriage chests were common things. For many years, family members, mostly girls and women, would spin thread, yarn, purchase cloth, to make linens and blankets. At times, coin would be squirreled away, valuables, jewelry, and in some cases, seed. After several minutes, she pulled up two small, tightly woven bags. One was empty, the other, was not.

"What do you have, Eleanor?"

"Sit, sit!" She smiled, all of her teeth still intact and motioned to the table. "The old sheriff was fond of an old Turkish brew. Lady Genevieve was very fond of it, as was Sir Guy." She held up the empty little pouch. From where he stood, Roland could smell the faint scent of cinnamon. "She also adored Cinnamon Walnuts. She gave me this bag during a joust in Nottingham." Roland's heart was starting to beat quickly, and not in a good way. She held up the other bag. "I have been saving this for a special occasion." She leaned over and leered at Locksley's Earl. "I don't think I am much longer for this world, not to mention, Guy of Gisborne, long thought to be dead, right this moment, sups in my home. I suppose this would be a special occasion." She turned her back on him, and digging through a basket of cloth and rags, pulled a piece of stained muslin from it. Dumping the beans from the pouch into the swatch of cloth, she tied it and began to search for a kitchen hammer. Finding it, she began to beat the beans in the cloth into crushed powder. "I married a wood-carver who came to work here when the castle was blown up, many years ago; the same explosion that supposedly killed you and did kill Lord Robin." Roland bristled still at the man's name. "We had five children and he passed a few years back. Our eldest son is the wood-carver now and a fine one, he is!"

"Gregory?" The wood-worker Roland hired was local.

"Aye." Pride shown in the old woman's eyes. "When my Gregory passed, I felt strange, abiding in the home with my eldest son and his wife. She is a good woman, but she let it be known to me that their brood was growing and I took up valuable space. Rather than pit my son against her, I asked him and my other son, along with several of my son-in-laws built this place for me." Satisfied with crushed beans in the cloth, she tightened the ribbon around the mouth and dropped it into the boiling water, before pushing the hook and pot over the fire in the fireplace.

It occurred to Roland to jump up, kill the woman before she said another word, but a quieter, voice whispered through.

Listen.

She sat down across from him. "I do not treat with company often. Stay for dinner."

"Sadly, I cannot."

Eleanor smiled sadly. "Then at least, share some of this mysterious Turkish brew with me."

"I can do that." He watched as she folded her hands primly on the table. "You speak of a Lady Genevieve. I do not recall hearing her name."

"Sir Guy-"

"My name is Roland. Lord Roland."

She looked at him intently, before sighing. "I... remember things others do not."

"Such as this mysterious Lady Genevieve or how you obtained a very expensive drink." The house was filled with the aroma of strong, Turkish coffee. She began to rise. "Let me." Roland stood up and went to the fire, using a hook to lift the pot from the fire. She had set two plain earthen mugs out, and wrapping a cloth around the handle, he began to pour a dark, strong smelling liquid from the pot. "What do you remember and have you told anyone?"

Eleanor's back was to him and her voice was far away. "I remember Sir Guy bringing an unconscious woman to his home, one bright Sunday. She was dressed most inappropriately; a short, black dress. Her legs were showing, up to her thighs. My mother thought she was sent from the devil."

Roland snorted. Eleanor continued.

"'Tis hazy, just bits. I remember going to work as her maid. I was terrified of Sir Guy; such a tall, broody man. At times, he was cruel, at other times... I remember him with Lady Marian-"

"Robin Hood's lady?" Roland interrupted. The mugs were full and he set the kettle down, grabbing both handles of the cups.

"Aye. Robin's Lady. Always. She was such a... creature." Roland's head jerked up, hissing when he splashed his wrist with the scalding drink. "She used him and he danced to her tune."

"Robin Hood."

"No. Sir Guy." She looked up at him then. "I felt sorry for him, the way she treated him. I remember Lady Genevieve." She didn't notice he set the mug in front of her. "I remember being her maid, I remember the clothing Sir Guy purchased for her, I remember her kindness and her gentle-nature. At times, they argued, but they always made up. I remember a joust, I remember you... Sir Guy... horribly injured and how she loved you and cared for you. I remember helping to hide her at Ripley's convent when the Sheriff became difficult. I remember a wedding." Her brow knit, causing deeper furrows between her eyes. "I remember a wedding, a small, joyous, wedding at Ripley's. She wore red. Such a bold color."

"What else do you remember?"

"I remember catching her bouquet of fall roses at the party in Locksley." She swallowed. "I remember Sir Guy's happiness and joy. And then..."

"And then what?" Roland asked quietly.

"He took her for a ride. He took her into the forest for a ride. It was bright, sunny and then suddenly, the world became dark and he returned without her. One moment, I was cleaning their room, the next... I was in the kitchen, giving Fiona eggs. I stood there for many minutes, until she shooed me out, as if I didn't belong there."

"And he returned without her."

Eleanor nodded. "At first, I feared he'd killed her, had an argument and left her behind. But she didn't return. I watched and watched and finally snuck into the barn. I found her horse, the one she rode, there, unsaddled, languishing as he had before she came. Sir Guy's horse was a big, heavy, mean brute, but the one the lady rode..." Eleanor shrugged. "Sir Guy rode the horse several times a week after that. I was hiding in the barn once, my mother wanted me to walk to Clun for bread and the woods scared me, so I was hiding until I couldn't hide anymore and Sir Guy came into the barn after riding Her horse. I heard him whisper – Miss her? I miss her as well."

Eleanor rose from her chair and went back to the trunk. Again, she began to pull things from it, laying them neatly on the bed. "No one mentioned her. No one. No one remembered her. It was if she'd never been there. The following winter was cold, so my mother and I spent time in front of the fire, spinning thread and cloth and knitting heavy clothing. Some of it was for my marriage chest and I went to put some linens in it. I found the beans in the bottom, along with the cinnamon walnuts. There were still some in it and I savored them. I then found a purse," she pulled out a black draw-string pouch, clinking with coins, "with coppers in it. It was the purse Sir Guy gave me with my pay for caring for Lady Genevieve. My pay was in the bottom of my chest and I found these as well."

She pulled out a faded yellow tunic and a black over-dress. Sir Guy's colors, to be sure, and now, Roland's as well. "For the faire, Lady Genevieve had this made for me, as well as this." Now she pulled from the chest a grey, hooded tunic with a red over-dress. "I wore this for my wedding. My mother thought I purchased the material and secretly had it made. She accused me of being wanton for the color, but after I put it on, she liked it. I didn't buy this. I didn't make it. She gave it to me. Lady Genevieve."

Roland stared at the two dresses. He remembered them, remembered chiding Genevieve for having them made, but remembered being pleased the girl had worn the yellow and black with pride.

"I remember her, but no one else remembers her. I have often wondered what happened, but I decided the angels must have taken her. He would not have harmed her. He loved her and she loved him. It's the only reasoning I can think of."

~~~...~~~

Eleanor died two weeks later, right after Roland moved his bride into Locksley Hall. At her funeral, Roland heard whispering that in the end, she was telling fanciful tales of a strange woman and her knight. Roland scoffed, pretending to ignore them, but secretly kept the stories Eleanor told him in his heart. He questioned The Angel the next time he saw her and she gave him a fanciful tale of looping time and how things sometimes fall through the cracks when time has been looped and repeated over and over. She told him to keep his eyes open, he would find more whispers and shadows, from that forgotten time. Hints that Genevieve was real. Somehow, he felt this was the Angel's way of keeping Genevieve alive in his heart, keeping him focused on the long task to come.

Six weeks after they moved into the manse, Alise gave birth to a large, dark-haired baby girl, Eleanor, who mostly resembled her mother. Seven more little FitzGisbornes followed, every two to three years. Save the last one. Baby Guy was a surprise, a shock to both his mother and his father, but beloved nonetheless. Spoiled, definitely, not only by his parents, but by his much older siblings as well. Their eldest was married when the baby was born, pregnant herself, and she was aghast her parents still did that sort of thing! She was no different from Roland and Alise, as she had a surprise child as well, twenty five years into her marriage.

Archer wandered, came and went, until a cold, cold winter, he showed up and Alise refused to allow him to leave. Seth visited once, told Roland he was proud of him, before reminding him where he lived, as he was too old to travel and besides, he preferred his smaller home and more humble roots. Seth and his sisters doted on Roland and Alise's little ones. By the time Roland died, they were a forgotten, poorer branch of the family. Forgotten by all but Roland.

And his future selves.

A few times, Roland saw the ghost of Annie, wandering Ripley's, when he visited the crypt. She always fled from him.

Roland took his family to Aignes-Mortes on at least four occasions, returning a fifth time with Alise, in 1277, with only 13 year old Guy in tow. Unlike the ancestor he was named after, Guy was rambunctious, energetic and social, much like his mother and siblings. He kept his mother exhausted and his father in a lop-sided grin. He took an interest in the grapes, the cultivation, the wine-press. It was decided, and Roland's heir agreed, that Guy would be left in charge of the estate, holding the lands for his brother and caring for it. It was a wise decision, as under Guy's stewardship, the winery flourished. He was eventually made Count of Aigues-Mortes and the Duke of Nîmes, his descendant holding onto the properties and titles when France finally yanked the area firmly from England's grasp. Within several generations, however, the titles and lands, along with the winery, was returned to the English FitzGisbornes.

Alise fell ill during the last trip to Aignes-Mortes, and died there. Roland entombed her in the small chapel, next to her mother and grandfather and grieved for her. He never wandered, never took a mistress, never remarried, although Edward I, Henry's successor, insisted several times, even attempting to enlist Roland's eldest son, Henry William, to talk him into taking a second wife. Both Henry and Roland would laugh with their monarch. "My father has whelped eight children, six that are living," Henry would retort. He was as close to England's monarch as his father had been with Edward's. His brother John FitzGisborne, was Edward's most trusted spy and that one made sure Roland and Henry knew all of his secrets. "There is nothing left to bequeath them and I refuse to give up an inch of Locksley or Gisborne! Bad enough my little brother is acting the lord over Nîmes."

"Aye," Roland agreed. "I had to threaten John with disinheritance if he did not marry the heiress of Eastbrooke." John appeared to like his wife much, despite there were no children as of yet. If not, it would be another title and another estate under the ever-growing FitzGisborne grasp.

"Perhaps," Edward waved his finger, "I should threaten you with like punishment."

Henry and Roland looked at each other, before bursting out in laughter.

Roland died in the early winter of 1292. A strange story is told of his death. He sat in his chair, by the fire in his room, his room, where all of his children had been birthed, along with his eldest son, and his eldest son's, eldest son, listening to the comings and goings in the bed-chamber above him, where his grandson's wife lay in labor. He could tell things were not going well and when women began to wail, he ordered the child brought to him.

A little boy, blue and unbreathing was laid in his arms. His hair was black as a raven and his features identical to his great-grandfather. Roland pinched the child's nose and slid a finger into his mouth, extracting mucus. "Name him William Edward. He will be as dark as my grandfather." Roland then leaned over and breathed life into the child.

As William Edward took that first breath of life, lungs filling up, turning pink and screaming, Roland leaned back and took his last, his final act in life was giving life-

to himself.

Notes:

Roland made wealthy and successful marriages for all of his children, save Beatrice, who decided to become a nun. She entered Ripley's, learned of the boon in the crypt and took care of Sir Guy's grave. She continued the tradition of laying yellow roses on the stone sarcophagus and found an interesting notation in one of the nunnery's journals. Breaking her oath of silence the one time, she showed it to her eldest brother, Henry, who shook his head and denied knowledge of anything concerning Sir Guy. It was a damp day and when he closed the ledger, his thumb smudged the date, forever erasing the exact day in November Sir Guy married his beloved Genevieve. For a time, the ledger was lost, forgotten, until centuries later, when another FitzGisborne would become Abbess of Ripley's and found it.

This FitzGisborne would destroy the Abbey.

Only for another FitzGisborne to rebuild and restore it.

But that's a story for later on.

tbc

Lord Roland FitzGisborne, Earl of Locksley, Lord of Gisborne, Count of Aigues-Mortes and the Duke of Nîmes – b.1215 d.1292

Alise of Aignes-Mortes 1243

b.1222

d.1278

Children:

Eleanor b.1246

Henry William b.1248

Robert b. 1249 d.1249

Beatrice b.1252

Isabeau b.1254

John b. 1257

Blanche b.1258 d.1259

Guy b. 1265