Aside from Heaven

Chapter 4B

Black as your Soul

"WOT?" William shoved the woman aside, stormed his hall, bringing the thunder with him. "She-"

"-smothered the baby." Margaret ran after him, FitzGisborne knights jumping from their mounts and tossing reins to waiting pages.

"WHEN? Where are the boys? Where-" he turned on his chatelaine, "is the bitch?"

"Yesterday, before sunset. We found her in the chapel, the baby on the altar."

William stopped dead in his tracks. "She committed murder on holy ground?" Unbelievably, his countenance turned blacker. "Where is she?"

"She's in the tower, m'lord. It seemed it would be easier to contain her there."

He turned and headed towards the stairs. The servants stepped back into the shadows, desiring to stay out of their master's wrath. "And my sons? They are-"

"They are at Kirkley's, m'lord." Margaret was trying valiantly to keep up with the long, angry strides of the man quietly known as The Midnight Wolf. "Sir Simon took them to his home until Father Bartholomew could take them to Abbot Gervasius." Simon ette Forde was a good and just man. His wife passed in childbirth three years previously, and he was struggling to raise his only child.

"They are safe?"

"Aye."

William reached and began to mount the stairs. "She won't be." He took the stairs three at a time, leaving Margaret and his knights in his wake. As a result, he didn't see or hear his chatelaine order a lesser knight to retrieve Father Bartholomew.

The tower room, unlike the rest of the manse, was sparsely furnished. It was a dark and cold room, with no fireplace, and rarely used. He could hear Margaret huffing and calling behind him; he heard the word 'ill' and scoffed at the whisper of 'mercy'. As he stepped onto the top landing, he grabbed the key from the small table, where one of his young, newly spurred knights sat with a load of warm bread. Clumsily, the barely-bearded lad jumped up, knocking over the chair he was sitting in. "My Lord-"

William shoved the key in the lock. "Send for the priest." He threw the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

~~~...~~~

Mellisande picked herself slowly from the floor, marveling to herself how solid the mortar wall she had just been thrown against was. "You have an interesting way of greeting your beloved wife, husband." She rolled her shoulder. It took the brunt of the blow when William threw her against the wall.

"Wife? WIFE?" From the haze of pain, she watched helplessly as William reached out and grabbed her by the hair of her head, lifting her to her toes. "You know not the meaning of the word." He ignored her screams of pain, instead yelling over her. "Just as you know not the meaning of the word 'mother'!"

Again, Mellisande found herself grabbed, thrown hard, and sliding down the wall. This time, she was certain she heard – and felt – a crack in that shoulder. Stars exploded behind her eyelids. "A baby, you cunt! An innocent baby!"

With a grunt, she rolled away, trying to stay out of The Wolf's reach. "NOT INNOCENT!" she hissed. She held her shoulder as she pulled herself to her feet. "A demon! Like her sire!" She spat it derisively. "Just like her sire!" She staggered about the room, trying to stay out of his reach. The pain went deep, deep into her stomach and had she had anything in her stomach, she would have heaved. "I saw it in her eyes when she suckled!" She continued to move, stagger. She clutched her injured arm, which was hanging weirdly and at an odd angle, close to her body. "England is dying. People are starving." She circled behind the man now, who watched her with furious intent. "Why aren't ours?"

William was not about to tell the woman he knew what was coming, that he had spiritual warning. "You question my care? I have taken care of ours! Provided for-"

"Because you-" she stabbed at him with her good hand, crying out and almost falling from the pain caused by her broken shoulder, "are in league with Satan! You made a deal with the devil himself! I sacrificed her-"

"WOT? You wot? Sacrificed our daughter-"

"Sacrificed!" Mellisande drew herself up as tall as she could stand. The bed was between them and she felt it gave her a small bit of protection. "On the altar of God, to placate Him for your wickedness!"

William's speed was demonic. He flew across the bed, before she could move and seized her by the throat. This time when he pressed her to the wall, he held her there, high above the floor, feet dangling. Mellisande clawed at his hands, desperately trying to gain breath. "You bitch! You blame me? 'Tis Edward's fault!"

"And... you... are... Edward's... lackey!"

He pressed her tighter, pinned her with his body. Lackey. A name no one called him since his time as Guy of Gisborne. "I kept ours fed! I kept you in velvets! You wanted for nothing! Our children wanted for nothing!"

She struggled, kicking feebly, getting weaker.

'Gui! Non!'

William looked up, over his wife's dislocated shoulder and through the glass window. Douma, the Angel of Death floated, black wings out-stretched, her eyes a deep shade of blue, a sure sign of her sorrow.

"I'm going to kill her."

'Non, elle est à vous de ne pas tuer. Elle est à moi et il est pas son temps.'

"Give her to me!"

Somehow, Mellisande began to laugh, an evil, croaking thing. "I'm not the only one who hears the voices."

'Non, Gui.'

Arms, strong earthly hands, grabbed his, forcing him to turn loose of the woman William called wife. She fell to the floor, crying out as she hit the flagstone on her injured shoulder, the pain causing her to finally vomit.

"My Lord. Please." Father Bartholomew's voice was quiet, pleading, always a steady, wise beacon in the midst of the storm. "She is ill."

William tugged, more hands restraining him. In his peripheral vision, he was now seeing Douma in far recesses up in the conical ceiling. Valouel had joined her. "She is not ill. She is damned!"

"My Lord. Sir William, please." The priest's voice was cajoling. "She is sick in the mind. She doesn't know what she does." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Twice, she has called out, begging for the baby. At times, she doesn't remember what heinous sin she has committed. Please, my lord. I beg you to grant mercy."

"'Tis not your place to met judgment." William turned to this voice. Simon ette Forde held him on his left side. "She is..." he shook his head, "not right in her mind." There were few men William trusted. All three were in the room with him at that moment.

"M'lord William," the other man he depended on, Richard de Glasson, was on his right. "You are grieving. We grieve with you. Leave her to the sheriff. He'll met punishment."

William shook both men off. The priest fell to his knees on the floor next to Mellisande, administering prayer and aid. Bile and puke frothed from her mouth and down her dress. He looked up at the Black Knight. "She needs a physician, my lord."

William sneered. "No. Let her suffer as my daughter suffered at her hands." He turned and stormed out of the room, the young knight backed against the wall, appalled at the violence that had taken place on the other side of the wall. "Stale bread and rank water for her. I'll not worry that she is fed."

His footsteps echoed down the stairs.

~~~...~~~

To the world, his people, William Edward FitzGisborne, The Midnight Wolf of Gisborne, the Black Knight of Locksley, was not a righteous man. He was generous to Ripley's and Kirkley's, the family priest, also served the community. He gave alms, showed up for most of the services, but he was not considered very pious.

Little did they know.

To the world, he was a stoic, unemotional creature.

Little did they know.

He threw the doors open to the private, family chapel. There were tiny candles all around the bier, casting an eerie glow about the sanctuary. William stood and stared for a long time, before reaching out and picking up the wee body. He sat down in the pew, cradling a life snuffed too soon to him, tucked her beneath his chin and began to keen lowly.

Several times, his head knight and personal servant, Richard de Glasson started to step in, only to be pulled out by Simon. "Leave him be." The man's eyes blinked rapidly. "I know how he feels. 'Tis wretched. He has lost child and wife in one heinous act. 'Tis a horrid feeling." They closed the doors, shutting William and little Cecilia away from the world.

For a long time, William held the cold, lifeless body. He remembered Roland's – his – and Alise's babies, who had not survived; Robert, who lived three days and Blanche, who lived three months. He strained, desperate to remember their faces, only to recall haze. Robert was sickly, refused to nurse, while Blanche had been healthy, a happy babe, only to get sick and pass in a single night. He then attempted to recall his children who survived, only to only remember their adult features. Bits and pieces, snatches of childhood remained. Alise, as well.

At some point, William realized he was wrapped in wings, held close, a sense of peace surrounding him. "'Tis getting difficult," he whispered, "to remember them. Will it always be this way?"

"The less you think on them, the further from you they become, the harder it is to recall." There was a gentle stroking at his ear. "Remember the good memories. Cherish them."

William pulled away from the angel. "You knew. You knew she would do this." Angry, tearful eyes stared into the orbs of Valoel. "You could have warned me, prevented this!" To his right, he saw Douma, hovering just slightly above the ground. Both angels shook their head no. Angrily, he glared at the austere angel. "You knew! You knew she would do this!"

Douma continued to shake her head. "No, we did not know. I did not know."

William slumped into the angel holding him, still clutching the lifeless body. "You could not have shielded her if you did know."

Douma leaned forward, seeming to take the babe from his arms. "There are times, death is a gift, a joy." The spirit of the baby came to life in her arms. "This is not one." The angel began to shimmer. For a brief minute, William watched as the intimidating angel cooed, a tiny hand gripping her finger. It crushed William to watch Douma and his daughter fade away.

"Why?" It was a pained, hoarse whisper. "Why does an innocent die, while my wife lives?"

"Mellisande's death will not bring Cecilia back."

"But it would be justice!" William threw himself away from the angelic being, continuing to clutch the baby to him. "Her very breath is an abomination! Why does she breathe, yet my daughter does not? That is not just!"

Val sighed heavily. How does one explain... "She will die, Guy. She will live her life unable to exist at peace in her mind. And she will stand before The Almighty and answer for her crimes."

"As will I." He turned from her and placed the corpse back on the bier. "I cannot remember the face of Robert nor Blanche." He propped his chin on his elbows, staring down at the lifeless body "Is this how my lives will be? Children dying, unable to recall faces of my little ones?"

Val stood behind him, the desire to hold him again, almost over-whelming. "Think hard on your Aunt Galienne."

William began to chuckle. "Galienne was my granddaughter. Always up in a tree."

Val smiled at his face. "She was also your Great-Aunt."

William gazed at the babe. "Aye. She favors Galienne." There was a small, side smile. "She resembles Alise."

"When Hugh is deep in thought, when Fulks is angry, you will see your children, lurking in the shadows of yourself and those you love."

William did not turn, simply continued to memorize, burn the baby's features into his memory. She had his black hair and her great-aunt's Eleanor's softness. For a moment, the memory of that child from so long ago, Roland and Alise's first born, sprang to life. Renewed fury asserted itself. "Mellisande should die! She should die at my hand! 'Tis my right!"

"Fulks," Val whispered, "will need to see his mother's illness, experience it first hand. Hugh knows. Fulks need to see for himself. She will die, but not by your hand."

It was quiet, William gazing at his daughter, Valoel looking on. After a long time, William opened the chapel doors, to see his knights and his chatelaine waiting expectantly. "I go to Ripley's. I will bury Cecilia tomorrow with the Old Man in the crypt. She will be watched there." He stopped, stumbled, almost telling them Robert and Blanche were there as well. "Then I will go to Kirkley's, see my sons, make sure they are well." He turned to the knights. "de Glasson, you will come with me." Richard nodded. He expected this. "Simon, go the sheriff in Nottingham. Tell him to come and wait here for me." He realized it was getting quite late. "Hurry. The sun will be down soon. Your daughter will worry."

"Vivienne is used to me coming and going at all hours. Her mother's sister is there and will stay until I arrive."

~~~...~~~

Hugh was upset but stoic. Almost age eight, he was learning quickly who he was and what was his worth. It was a great deal of responsibility, but William felt the child would bear it well once he became of age.

Fulks, on the other hand, was a petulant child, much like his mother. He wanted to come home, did not like going to mass, eating with the monks. He didn't understand why he was in this place, sleeping in a strange bed.

"Your mother is ill. You are here safe."

"Why isn't the baby here?" Fulks had shown very little interest in his sister. She was, after all, just a girl. "Did mother give the sickness to her?"

Perhaps, this way would be easier for now. "Aye. She has died from your mother's sickness."

Hugh was sad.

Fulks could care less.

And so it was.

~~~...~~~

Adamus de Boneventure shook his head. This job... this position... was at times a loathsome thing. Never more loathsome than at this moment. He'd known William since they were children, grew up with him. Adamus's father was a landed knight, not a huge estate, really more of a moderate sized farm, but it was an estate, nonetheless. It was Adamus's now, the home loved and lavished over by his wife, a housekeeper and caretaker. He could afford the two servants only because Sir William personally appointed him sheriff of Nottingham, an appointment and responsibility he was usually grateful for.

Not today.

He listened to his friend rail, grieve. He spoke to the servants, their testimonies. Lady FitzGisborne was drugged and sleeping when he got there. He went to the tower room anyway; it stank of vomit and William's wife was almost unrecognizable, battered and bruised. Against their lord's orders, Mellisande's arm was set, painkillers given. Adamus had known William for a long time. He was known to disappear for long periods of time and Adamus didn't want to know why. He knew the man was a fierce and blood-thirsty warrior, but he'd never seen or heard of him raising an abusive hand to a woman, regardless of how much she needed the slap.

And when he finished listening and questioning, and he stood in the chapel, staring down at the baby whose joyous christening and baptism he'd attended just a few, scant weeks previous, he turned to Sir William. "Leave me for a few minutes. I need to think."

"Think?" William was furious. "What is there to think about?"

Adamus turned his back on his overlord. "Much." He put his hands behind his back and wandered the chapel. If he was aware of William watching him in stony silence, he said nothing, nor acknowledged the fact. Several times, he stopped and stared at the stained-glass, the tapestries. More than once, he stopped before the window depicting the Virgin Mary with the Holy Babe.

William said nothing.

Finally, he turned scowling and stood before the Lord of the Manor. "My Lord, I would ask you would hear me out."

"All I wish to hear is the date you are to hang her."

"I'm not going to hang her." William's fist tightened. "Sir William... William... Will..." he beseeched, the old nickname calling to a part of William's soul that stopped him from laying out his friend, "listen to me. Aye, she is guilty and your child is dead because of her, but she is insane and we both know it. Your servants know it. Father Bartholomew stated quite emphatically that she is ill in the mind. I know it well, as do you."

"Regardless, she murdered-"

"Will. Why did you recommend and appoint me for this post?"

The question caught the man off guard and it took him a moment to get his wits about him. "Because you are level-headed and thorough." His finger came out, pointing at the man. "Because you are just."

"That's right. I am just. But I am also your man. You are my liege lord. You placed me in this office with your own hand. Your wife is nobility and if I execute her, just as it is, it will be whispered by your detractors that I did your bidding. That you used my hand to set your wife aside." He turned his back, again staring at the glass. "And that is a rumor and whisper that will follow both of us to the end of our days." His voice dropped to a bare whisper. "And it could be our undoing."

"Adamus-"

"Will," his old friend whispered, "The Despensers will use any excuse, any rumor, to obtain what is yours. You know this to be true" Adamus did not have to add that they would after his estate, meager as it was, as well. "Go to the king. Let him sentence her." Adamus looked over his shoulder, eyes down. "Let this death be on his head."

~~~...~~~

"All this fuss over a girl-child?"

"Sire?"

Edward with his back to William, poured himself a glass of wine. He did not offer William a glass, a fact William was quite aware of. "Your lady is a proven breeder. Two boys out of three tries. Surely, you can forgive her this."

"Surely, I cannot."

The man took a deep drink and sighed. "On second thought, girls do have their uses. Depending on who they marry." He raised his goblet as he turned. "If I recall my history, much of your property was acquired through marriage, both past and present."

William was silent.

Edward drained the glass and set it down. "Can you not forgive this tragedy and move on?"

"No, sire, I cannot."

A royal shoulder lifted in a negligent shrug. "She cannot deny you your rights in the marriage bed."

"I am not returning to her bed!" William could see where the man was going. "My sons currently reside at Kirkley's! Any child she bears would be in danger! I will not have my children raised in a monastery or convent!"

The king made a moue. "Damned inconvenient, that." Again, he shrugged and waved his hand. "Go ahead, behead or hang the chit, as you are so sorely grieved." William bowed and turned to leave. "I'll send my own executioner, if you like. Of course, there will be repercussions."

This gave William pause. "Repercussions?"

"For starters," there was an underlying mocking tone in the king's voice, "you will have to forfeit your lady's lands and manse."

"Wot?"

"I know and after you've worked so hard to aid those poor peasants." The sigh accompanying this statement was almost comical. "Rebuild it."

"Sire," William's voice was muted, "those lands are destined for my second son, Fulks-"

"Her cousin, Sir Royce Harridston, feels the estate is not faring well under your hand. In addition, Hugh Despenser, stated the quality of the fare in the hall was lacking, when he visited. Therefore, we have decided that if you chose to justifiably execute your murderous wife, it would be best if her lands and titles were to revert back to Sir Royce."

"Sire," William hissed, "those lands were in dire straits because of Sir Royce's handling. I have worked hard to-"

"He has married now," Edward smiled. "and his wife has her hands firmly on his purse strings. Or perhaps, it would be better said her father has his hands firmly on the purse strings. I do believe Sir Royce would like some income at his disposal that does not have to be approved by his father-in-law." There was a snide smile. "He has been a faithful servant."

William could tell by the way the king was standing, the tilt of his head, there was more.

"Hugh Despenser has petitioned to be named as your sons foster."

Please tell me-

"You turned them down."

Edward continued on. "They are, as Sir Royce, faithful and loyal servants and deserve their rewards."

They desire their greedy gains and you kiss their arses!

"Sire," William forced his voice to that of a servant, "I have been your faithful and loyal servant for many years. I have asked for nothing."

"True, that you have." The man poured yet another goblet of wine. "You gained much when you married the bitch. There are those who would say you married her for your wealth-" William's laugh was a croak, and it crossed his mind to remind the king the reason why he married her was at his own command, "-and now that you have your two sons, you would do away with her and I would not like that said about you, my well-favored assassin. You have been a faithful wolf, and loyal dog. Continue to be so. I would hate to have you put down." The threat was there and William clearly heard it. "If her breath irritates you so much, retire her to a convent, but I would be most distressed if she dies an unnatural death. We would have no choice but to acquiesces to her cousin's and the Despensers requests."

And with that, the king turned his back to William, clearly dismissing him.

~~~...~~~

Non, elle est à vous de ne pas tuer. Elle est à moi et il est pas son temps. - No. She is not yours to kill. She is mine and it is not her time.