Aside From Heaven
Chapter 4G
Got money, I'll do anything for you
London 1329
"Sire."
Edward III turned. He had grown several inches since assuming the throne and was starting to fill out into the man he would someday be. He was sprouting a beard. "Sir William. What news of the north?"
William went to one knee. "Not good. Robert I of Scotland has died."
"That makes his son David king."
"And your sister Joan, Queen of Scotland." Edward openly shuddered as his mother's lover, Roger Mortimer walked into the room, unannounced and unwelcome. "This is good news, not bad." He stood over a still kneeling William.
"Joan is only eight," Edward reminded him.
"And like you," Roger reminded the king snidely, "she and David have excellent advisers. Something," he whacked William in the back of the head with the flat of his hand, "this lowly servant should remember." He turned away from them, not seeing William jump up.
Edward stepped back, giving William room to stand. "Sir William serves me. It would go well for you to remember that."
Roger turned, to find his throat in a vice grip that Hugh the Younger would have been familiar with. "It would also go well for you," William whispered, "to remember that I am not beneath you."
Roger was on his tiptoes. "Once a dog, always a dog." He pulled himself from William's grip and yanked his tunic down. "Sire, you should be careful who you associate with."
"So should my mother."
The retort was unexpected and Roger drew up in surprise. Bowing, he headed towards the door. Edward followed him and motioned to his guard. "From now on, that man is not allowed access to my rooms or my person." He waited for the man to acknowledge the command and shut the door before turning back to his guest. "How much longer must I put up with him? My mother is out of control and he openly rules in my stead as if he were king!"
"Patience, sire. While he is greedy, he is not as cruel as Hugh the Younger. Returning the barons stolen lands was a wise move on his part, but your barons will tire of him and his ways soon enough, as will you."
"I am already tired of him!"
Edward found a goblet pressed into his hands. "Drink. It will soothe you." William waited until his young king drained the chalice – not too quickly.
"Joan is too young to be queen."
William shrugged. "And unbeknownst to Roger, David's two most able lieutenants are ill. They will not survive long. Certainly not long enough until David reaches his majority."
This was a surprise to Edward. "The Black Douglas? The Earl of Moray? Mortally ill?"
"Aye. Scotland is in disarray." Nitpicking thoughts were hard to plant and The Black Knight was getting ready to plant one. "I am more concerned with the displaced Englishmen who lost property in the south of Scotland when the treaty with France was signed in your name."
"I am left in the dark in regards of the running of my kingdom." Edward was staring into his cup. "Would you be so kind to look into that for me?"
"Certainly sire. Your wish is my duty. This would be a good time to take back what is England's." He suddenly changed the subject. "Speaking of young queens," this was said with a smile. "How is married life?"
Ah, now Edward lit up. "I am most pleased! You know," he whispered, although no one would hear anyway, "court loves Phillipa as much as I. She has chosen her ladies from the higher families from England. She brought none with her. If you had a daughter, no doubt, she would be here in Phillipa's entourage!"
He didn't notice William's face growing dark. "Yes, I am sure."
Edward was continuing on, a slightly surly note creeping into his tone. "I would like to schedule her coronation as queen, but mother does not wish to give up her title."
"It will come soon, I promise. By your leave," William turned to head to the door.
"Sir William?"
William well knew this tone of voice from his young king. "Remind me why France forced England to give land to the Scots."
William scrunched his nose. "Scotland and France are allies and England was forced to revert to old borders established during Alexander's reign almost 75 years ago. They have an old alliance."
Edward was thinking. William knew that Edward and his younger brother John loved warfare. "Ah. The Auld Alliance. Neither are our friend, regardless of who their king is married to and who their sister is." Edward was openly referring to the fact his sister was now Queen of Scotland and his mother's brother was King of France. Despite two advantageous marriages, England was still in a precarious position.
"I would suspect, my lord, that right this moment, Scotland's king has as much power as England's."
"Which is none." The young man turned his back on his favorite earl and leisurely strolled away, hands behind his back. "I must prioritize certain things." He turned with a finger up. "Rally the barons to me. Soon, I have need to oust Roger and set my mother down."
"You would do her a kindness and simply retire her to one of her castles." William exhaled. "Sire, she simply wanted to be lov-"
"She will not go quietly," Edward interrupted. It was obvious that his mind was elsewhere and not listening to his most loyal adviser. "Until Roger is silenced for good."
"True." William kicked himself. Edward might be compassionate; then again, he might not be.
It was quiet for a few more minutes. "This... issue... with Scotland worries me."
William nodded. His little bug planted well. "Once you have secured the throne, your majesty can focus on that problem."
"You will have the information I need?"
"Of course, sire."
With that, Edward waved the Wolf of Gisborne away, leaving the man to do what he did best.
~~~...~~~
Edward and Phillipa's first child was born in June of 1330. The queen was nine days shy of her 16th birthday. The king was not yet 18. England rejoiced as the line of the monarchy was secure. They named their first son Edward and in later years, he became known as The Black Prince.
Four months later, while Roger Mortimer and Isabella of France visited Nottingham Castle, Edward summoned Parliament to Nottingham. They seized both Roger and Isabella, sending the Earl of March to the Tower and Isabella to Berkhamsted.
~~~...~~~
November, 1330
"This cell looks familiar."
"It should. I made sure you got the same one."
Roger looked around, with a sneer on his face. "If you're going to aid me in escaping this time, can you please find something other way than the privy chute?" He shuddered. "I can still smell the shite in my nightmares."
"No. I am here to inform you of your sentence."
Roger watched as William glided through the shadows, much like a ghost. "Sentence," he scoffed. "There has been no trial."
"There won't be one," William whispered. "The King has passed judgment and your sentence pronounced. Don't," he raised a finger to keep Roger from interrupting, "think the barons or I will lift a finger to save you. Edward is king. His word is law and the barons no longer see you or Isabella as Regent." It was silent as William watched as slow realization stole across the other man's features. "The king has declared you guilty of assuming royal power and unlawfully acting as England's de facto ruler. Your titles and lands are forfeit-"
"NO! My wife and childre-"
"You should have thought of them before you took up with the Queen," William glared. "Your titles and lands are forfeit. You are to be executed forthright in Tyburn."
"Tyburn," the man whispered. "A traitor's death." Roger inhaled. "What of Isabella?"
William smiled. "Edward loves his mother." Like he loves his father. "She is to be retired to Castle Rising in Norfolk, to live out her days."
"So," Roger turned and wandered to a corner. "This is it. What did I do to anger Edward so badly?"
William rolled his eyes. "For starters, you are as ambitious as Hugh the Elder, greedy as fek, and acted as if you were king. It was one thing to restore what was stolen by the Despensers and Edward II, but executing Edmund of Woodstock-"
"He conspired against the king!"
"No, he conspired against you!" William pushed himself from the wall and stepped into the low light. "For God's sake, Edmund, while unpopular, was the king's uncle! It was one thing to jail him for conspiring to unseat you, but you pardoned a murderer in exchange for him to behead the man! Royalty, Roger! A lowly murderer was paid and pardoned in exchange to execute royalty whose only so-called crime was to attempt to replace you! Did you not think Edward would take revenge? He hates you! Has always hated you! How long did you think he would allow you to rule from his mother's bed?" William waited while this sank in. "Do you wish to send any message to your wife or your children? Any final words?" A scroll of paper, quill, and a small clay jar of ink materialized on the loan table in the room. "I will wait."
Roger sat at the table, suddenly a very small, frail man, one who knew death waited for him. In fact, Douma stood by the window, her wings twitching and her eyes ever rolling. Stars, comets shot through the dark blue irises, much like a child's kaleidoscope and unseen by Roger. For some time the only sound was the scratching of the quill against the parchment. William worked hard to look anywhere except the condemned man or the angel. The angel was having no part of it.
Gui! Lui dire! Apaiser son esprit!
William rolled his eyes yet again, much to the disgust of the Angel of Death.
Si votre pain vos yeux plus loin en arrière, vous trouverez sans doute votre cerveau!
This caused William to bark in laughter, much to the disgust of the prisoner seated before him.
"Easy for you to laugh."
"Trust me, I am not laughing at you." Douma's eyes were turning orange, sparks flying about. He snarled at her like a small, errant child. "Roger, I assure you your children and wife will be fine. I promise. At some point, when Edward has calmed down and settled, he will restore your titles and land to your heirs. He will forgive them and not blame them for your transgressions."
Roger blew on the parchment, ensuring the ink was dry. He rolled it before touching it to his forehead. "Promise me Edward will not go after Joan or the children. They are innocent."
William inhaled.
"Promise me they won't starve. Promise me they won't be left as poor relations." With this plea, Roger stood and faced William nose to nose. "I know you. I know who you are. I know what you are. Your word is your bond. You have more influence over Edward than anyone. Promise me my family will survive this, that they will be educated as they deserve, that they will marry well, and will take their rightful place in the realm. Promise me no one will take what is Joan's or what rightfully belongs to my heirs!"
William's eyes narrowed. Telling the man that one day his heirs would retain what was stripped from the now former Earl of March was one thing. Promising to care for them was another. Twelve children! Feeding a brood that size would break half of England combined! That would be tantamount to taking responsibility for another estate! Harridston had been a struggle, still was a struggle...
Roger now grabbed him by his tunic. "Promise me! I cannot die peacefully-"
"Alright, alright!" William began to pry the man off of him. "I will do my best-"
"You will do it! Promise!"
William exhaled with disgust. "Yes. I will do it."
~~~...~~~
"Why would she force me to promise that man I would care for his children?" William poured wine from the bottle into the chalice in the privacy of his apartment. "As if I have time-"
"It eased his mind." Valoel seemed to glide as if on ice, which for all all William knew, she did. "He will go to his death at ease and it is true. Joan and the children will be fine. Give Edward time. He will see the pettiness of taking his ire of Roger out on his wife and children, who were innocent in this. 'Tis not their fault that Isabella truly loved a man who was not hers."
William rolled his eyes at the mention of the Queen Dowager. Valoel threw her hands up. "Why do you do that? I swear, you are worse than a child!"
William sank his nose into his goblet. "You are an angel. Swearing should be beneath you." He toasted her. "If it makes you feel better, Douma said if I rolled them far enough back, I would be able to find my brain!" He drained his goblet. "God's Truth, I simply wish to go home and have a quiet life from here on out."
Valoel narrowed her eyes. Many times, she could see why Genevieve loved this man, understand it. Now was not one of those times. She leaned over him. "Give up that fantasy, Guy of Gisborne!" William's hand froze, realizing how angry he had made the angels that protected him. "Stay very still. Edward and his brother love warfare and England is getting ready to give them an abundance of it!"
~~~...~~~
In late November of 1330, Roger Mortimer was taken to Tyburn Field and hung for treason. In an act of leniency, Roger was not quartered or disemboweled. His body was left hanging in public for two days, a warning to all who would desire to usurp the king's rightful place.
Isabella, Dowager Queen of England was initially sent to Berkhamsted Castle and then held under house arrest at Windsor Castle until 1332, before being allowed to return to Castle Rising. She claimed Roger's body and had him interred at Greyfair's Church in Leicester. During this time, Isabella suffered a nervous breakdown following the death of her lover. Although required to surrender the majority of her lands, she retained several castles and her son, the king, allotted her a generous allowance. Although she was considered very wealthy, she quickly became deep in debt to local merchants.
Edward did not wish war with Scotland, as Scotland was friends with France. Angering one would have war on both sides of England and many feared England would squashed between the two. This delicate balancing act was destroyed in 1332, when Englishmen who lost land in a peace accord signed in Edward's name attacked Scotland in the Battle of Dupplin Moor and attempted to put Edward Balliol on the Throne of Scotland. While this battle failed, Edward rose up and with his sixteen year old brother John of Altham leading England's army, laid siege to Berwick. William Edward and his knights led the left flank, keeping the Scots on a narrow path and in the way of young John, who was proving to be a brilliant commander, despite his youth. England defeated the Scots at the Battle of Hallidon Hill, and successfully installed Balliol as King of Scotland.
William sat his horse on a victorious battlefield.
And for the first time in many years, England roared.
~~~...~~~
Late Fall, 1333
When it was over, William would blame himself.
Had he been paying attention, alert. He wasn't doing either. He was exhausted. He was 41 years and God's truth, he hadn't felt this old when he died as Roland! Spying wore him out, Douma informed him his days as an assassin were not over. The king had asked for nothing of that sort and he hoped his father never said anything. The Wolf of Gisborne had delivered several missives to the king from his father and he prayed the young man burned them after reading them. Or hid them somewhere, they would never be found.
Like beneath the privy.
Queen Dowager Isabella's fits of extreme grief were becoming fewer and fewer. Her heartache for the loss of her lover had been unprecedented. For a time, William considered suggesting the king send his mother to Ripley's. Isabella and Mellisande could stay in the same cottage and perhaps gouge each other's eyes out, putting both women out of their misery. Valoel smacked him in the head for that and it wasn't a nice, friendly smack. So he kept his mouth shut.
William and several of his men were returning from the coast. Edward commanded that William spend several days shadowing David and Joan of Scotland. They were being sent to France for safe-keeping, the nobility of Scotland hoping for a better time to put their own back on the throne and Edward insisted they make it to France without incident. Even in their youth, William could tell the two did not get along very well. One of William's men had actually infiltrated the guards, making it easier to keep an eye on the couple. He reported the twosome hissed and snapped at each other like cats and he was glad to see them get on the boat, bound for France.
They were close to Locksley, had just entered Nottinghamshire, the woods and trees a welcome signpost that home was just a few hours away. The company was relaxed, chattering, not paying attention. William wasn't really paying attention. His mind was on the home he was building in Gisborne – on the land Guy's home was on when it was burnt to the ground. His eldest Hugh, was marrying finally to an Eastbrooke and Fulks now resided at his mother's estate, running it. Soon, William would need to find a wife for him, an heiress, one with no brothers. He was considering spending more time at the new Gisborne manse, allow his eldest and heir a bit of autonomy. It was close to being completed. Simon ette Forde, one of William's lead knights and spies, was complaining about his daughter; she was almost eighteen, still unmarried, absolutely refused to give it a second thought. William's sons considered her as a sister, although William have never seen the chit. According to Simon, the girl was comely-
"All fathers think their daughters are beautiful," Richard de Glasson snorted. "Mine are all fairer than the fairest and are fabulous cooks!"
"Have you seen the girth of your eldest's husband?" William chimed in. "I would quite agree with your statement that she can cook. He can't sit a horse!"
There was good-natured laughter.
"Aye, Vivienne is comely and virtuous, but she is headstrong and independent! Every time I bring up marriage, she starts asking who will take care of me, who will cook and clean for me, who will manage my gar-"
There was a thwack, the sound of a loosed arrow and it embedded itself in Simon's throat, knocking him from his horse. Screams rang from the trees, the forest, and immediately, the path was impassable, both front and behind. The ambush infuriated William. He turned his warhorse and unsheathing his broadsword, began to hack at the thugs in the road. They were untrained, unkempt, and too soon in complete disarray. With their element of surprise gone, and the ambushers inept weapons skills obvious, they scattered, most of them fallen, dead beneath the skills of a trained army. As soon as the noise quietened, William was off his horse and kneeling next to Simon. The knight's breathing was labored; he tried to speak.
"Shhh. We need to find you a healer."
"Noo. Too... too late."
There was a flicker at the edge of William's vision. He looked up to see Douma standing by the trees. Her eyes were a sorrowful shade of deep brown, the irises rolling like mud.
"No. I forbid your death."
Simon actually managed to smile. "My... daughter." Somewhere, he found and gathered his last bit of strength, grasping William at the wrist. "Take care of her, my... my... lord. A good ma..."
"No!"
My lord.
William looked up. Simon's spirit stood next to Douma. He looked younger, at peace. My daughter. I name you guardian. I know you see me. Take care of her. She needs a good, firm, loving man. With that, Douma took him by the hand, turned, and the two faded in the mist.
William had seen death many times, more than his men knew, but this one was hard. Simon was like kin to him, although he only met the man's wife once – at his wedding – and never his daughter. Simon kept her sheltered, away from William's court, in one of the more secluded towns in William's shire. Clun, Several times, William joked of marrying the girl to his youngest son, but Simon always managed to side-step the suggestion.
A long wagon was found in the next town and Simon was laid on straw, his horse tied to the back. The rest of the journey was silent, painfully silent. None of his entourage headed to their own homes as they closed in on Simon's abode. At William's nod, Richard split off, heading to the small church in the dale, to retrieve the priest. A old woman saw the group as they trod slowly by. "Which way to Simon ette Forde's home?"
"Oh no oh no Vivienne will be-" In the midst of her wailings, she pointed to a large, well-appointed home, the garden and grounds well tended.
"Gather the women. Any she will need."
The lump in William's throat became larger. It was his duty to notify families of their loved ones deaths. It was not an easy task, he had done it, but never had he felt this horrid. Even his destrier's hooves seemed heavy as their neared the home. Simon wasn't just anyone, he was William's friend and William counted few as his friend. As they reached the edge of the property, the door flew open. The woman was young, petite and drying a plate with a cloth. "What? What is all the wailing? Who di-" As the word left her lips, she realized her father's horse was tied to the back of the wagon. "No!" She dropped the plate and the cloth, gathering her skirts and taking off in a run that would beat most young boys. She cut through the yard screaming. Climbing up into the back of the wagon, William was hit with a painful memory, a wretched sense of deja vu.
Her screaming reminded him of Marian, when her father died, was horribly murdered.
"Who did this? What happened?" She fell across the body, screaming and crying in a way that only women could. Finally she sat up on her knees and pushed her hair back. For the first time, William got a good look at her. His heart sank and he had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming out her name.
Genevieve!
~~~...~~~
Vivienne's entire world came to a complete stop for twenty two seconds when the wagon carrying her father's dead body pulled in front of their home.
On the twenty third second, her world unraveled, realization that her entire life was getting ready to change radically unless she did something drastic and soon.
On the twenty fifth second, she turned, ready to pay vengeance on the person who caused her beloved Papa's death. She lifted from her father's body, pushed her hair from her face, and with furious eyes began searching for someone who looked guilty. She found that man quickly enough.
He was tall and dark, clothed in black. He had a silver streak at his left temple and sat imperious on his horse, a huge evil ebony beast that looked as if it ate small children for breakfast. For a moment, something... fear?... horror?... flickered over his features. The only thing not dark about the man were his eyes. They were light, a shade of blue that reminded Vivienne of the stained glass in the chapel of Nottingham. With a blink, his face reverted to a schooled, cold mask. As he dismounted he began to speak.
"Vivienne ette Ford-"
She launched from the back of the wagon with a primeval scream only heard before in hell, shocking everyone, but mostly the man she rammed. He saw the attack coming and braced himself on his back foot. For one so petite, she rocked him as she struck, fists beating into his chest.
"YOU! YOU! You did this! It's your fault, your fault, damn you, damn your eyes, he did everything you asked, never questioned, he... he... he..."
The priest arrived and moved to take her. William shook his head and enveloped her, pulling her into him, relishing the contact, the jolt of electricity he knew she had to feel. Her fists continued to hammer his chest, although not as sharply.
"My lady, mon petite, I am sorry, so sorry. Your father was brave, a brave knight," he whispered. "Now you need to be just as brave."
"Tell me who did this! Tell me he lives so I may cut his wretched head from body!" This was muffled in William's chest, so he was the only one who heard it.
Truthfully, William didn't know who murdered her father. The band was rag-tag and unskilled. Only one escaped and a Gisborne tracker was following him, along with a knight. William pulled her closer, feeling her heat, her anger, her grief. "He is dead."
"It was a painful death?"
William sagged. "Aye," he whispered, "Most painful."
Her crying continued for some time. William held her closer.
"My Lord," the priest was standing next to him now. "What would you have us do?"
William's mind flew. "If their table will hold Sir Simon's body, make sure it is clear. Take his body there. Have the women sit with Lady Vivienne. As soon as I stable my horse and inform my household, I will return with my senior knights. We'll wash and dress the body. She should not-"
The priest was shaking his head.
"Hire gravediggers and a stonemason. I will pay."
Vivienne slumped, William catching her. Much like a child, he lifted her and carried her into the home. Women were already there, heating water, lighting the fireplaces. One showed him to Vivienne's chambers and watched as he laid her on the bed. It was a cluttered room, many plants hanging from the rafters, flowers... colorful pieces of hanging glass... As soon as she was settled, he turned on his heel, stormed down the stairs. He passed Richard de Glasson on his way out. "Be here in two hours to bathe and dress him. We will arrange his burial and sit with his daughter."
"And after that my lord?"
William turned into a growing storm. "Then I have to find her a husband."
~~~...~~~
William did not return to Locksley. Rather, he tore down an old and now rarely used path, looking for an ancient, notched tree. He notched that tree every couple of years, making sure it was visible to him, even after a century. Notching it when Roland was young had been important to him as a youngster. He continued the tradition every few years. Finding it, he looked both ways and making sure he was not being followed, headed into the brush. He followed a trail only he could see, winding his way deeper in the forest. After a short time, he entered a bosky dell, complete with a small pond and waterfall. This was his place, had been his place since he was a Gisborne.
Since he was Guy.
He jumped from his horse, threw his cloak over the saddle and began to dig through his garments gathered around his throat. Finally, he found the chain, delicate silver, and as he yanked it from beneath his linen undertunic, he found the charm, the small crucifix tucked away and hidden.
"ANGEL! VALOEL! SHOW YOURSELF!"
Nothing.
"DAMN YOU! VALOEL! SHOW YOURSELF!"
There was a mist, a rising inches from him. If the being breathed, he would have felt it on his cheek.
Douma, The Thousand Eyed Angel of Death, stood before him, close enough to take his life. There were few things on this earth that Lord William Edward FitzGisborne – formerly Sir Guy of Gisborne – was truly frightened of. Vivienne ette Ford was one. Douma was the other. In fury, he collapsed on the earth, his hands covering his head. "You worm. You dare challenge me, demand my presence to attend you like one of your churls?"
William's anger reasserted itself. "I did not call you!" He crawled backwards and jumped up, eyes blazing. "What a great joke you have played on me all of these years!"
"I find nothing funny, least of all, your spite."
"My spite?" He thrust a finger towards Clun. "How long have the angels known that Genevieve sat beneath my nose for close to two decades? Did the Almighty plant her there a-purpose?" Douma opened her mouth to respond, but William interjected. "Her father, my friend, bid me to be her guardian and to find her a husband! I cannot! I love her and she knows it not! She doesn't know who I am! Who we are!"
"Douma, please. Allow me." William felt an immediate sense of calm, despite the chaos in his heart and mind. "He is confused and hurt, as well he should be."
Douma stepped forward, fury written on her angelic features. "Concrescat ut ante aedis illo pro tribunali et feres super mimo praeter Anael esset vastati!"
"If memory serves me correctly," Val was calm in the eye of this storm, "this was your idea."
"Who is Anael?"
Douma jerked her head sharply, eyes red with fire. "Men!" She turned on her heel and dissipated into mist over the pond.
"Who is Anael?"
Val relaxed a touch and smiled. "I forget you understand."
William jerked away, walked towards the pond, where the last of angelic mist rose in the air. He stared into it. "I read and write Latin, remember? I speak it rather well. As I recall, she made the offer long ago in this very field. She asked me, I jumped." He took a deep breath. "Valoel. Genevieve. She is here."
"I know. I am sorry."
"You're sorry. A sorry lot of angels, just my luck." He jerked his hand, gesturing towards the now no longer existing angel dust. "I kill for her, you would think she would be a bit more grateful!"
"That arrangement was made so Edward and the Despensers would leave you and yours alone."
"And I still had to send my sons away! Edward owed me. He always owed me. I killed no one without Douma's support."
"You saved many others. There are members of nobility who now owe you. Thomas of Berkley owed you."
"And now a king who should be dead, lives on my crown." Again, the feeling of peace and calm overtook the knight. He forced himself to stay rooted in the spot, facing away from his Guardian Angel. "Who is Anael?"
Persistent. Always persistent. "The Angel of Passionate Love. You and Genevieve are a pet project of hers." Hands rested upon his shoulders. "Douma will get over her anger. She is not angry at you. She is angry for you."
"You lie."
Valoel was not upset with William's ire. "I am an angel, Guy of Gisborne. I cannot lie. She is angry for you." She moved away, leaving William feeling suddenly cold and bereft. "We do not know where the souls are sent, where they arrive, when they arrive. When we discovered Genevieve was so close, we did everything to keep the two of you apart." She turned and stepped away, looking into the changing trees. "Her father should have married her far away long ago. We have presented him with many opportunities. He took none."
"And now, I must do it. I must give the woman I love, waiting lifetimes for, away to someone else! How many times must I cut my heart out in this life?" Obviously there was something interesting in the trees as now he was focusing on one ahead of him. "I cannot divorce or serve justice to Mellisande, so I can marry Vivienne myself. Besides, I am old and Mellisande would not understand..."
"It would not be justice."
"Not now." The last few missives he had received from the Mother Superior had not been good. The boys had not visited their mother save once since their return from Aigues-Mortes. She had been wild, didn't know them. She called William a demon, Satan's Spawn. According to the Abbess, the woman William called 'wife' had not been lucid in some years. Over the years, William's hate for the woman had faded, changing into intense pity. "I could plead with Edward, the Church, to set her aside, but I will not give her cousin a foothold on any of Harridston. No excuse."
"Fulks is doing well."
William nodded. "He loves the place. It is his and his alone."
Val continued to look about the autumn colors of the glade. "This is a special place for you. It has changed."
"Aye." William was drawing inward, his thoughts, conscience, churning. "I brought Genevieve here. She was the only one I brought here. I didn't even bring Alise here. I truly loved Alise."
"Yes, you did. She softened many of your sharper edges." William looked over his shoulder and glared. "She softened some of your sharper edges," she amended.
William was back to staring down the trees. "I have never taken a mistress. I have remained true to my vows. Always."
"That is commendable."
"When Genevieve was taken from me, I did not lay with another woman. When I married Alise, I was faithful. I wouldn't consider another wife after her death. I have been faithful to Mellisande. No matter I have been told by my men and a chatelaine to take a mistress. I have not. Not even a wench for the night."
Had he been looking, the pain on the angel's face would have been evident. "Guy, had you executed Mellisande, her death would have negatively impacted your sons. Fulks would never had seen his mother as she is; ill in the head and unstable. He would have come to the conclusion that you killed her simply to get rid of her, so you could have her lands, so you could marry someone else. You would have married someone else and your sons and eventually you would have hated her. He would have resented you. Edward would have given Mellisande's cousin Harridston and he would have taken the property, blighted the land and populace within a few years. Keeping her alive was a kindness for others, not for herself and certainly not meant to anger you or place you in harm's way. I am sorry. You must do what you must and I can give you no advice."
The sense of peace ebbed away, leaving William alone in a sleeping grotto.
TBC
Gui! Lui dire! Apaiser son esprit! - Guy! Tell him! Ease his mind!
Si votre pain vos yeux plus loin en arrière, vous trouverez sans doute votre cerveau! - If your roll your eyes any further back, no doubt you will find your brain!
Concrescat ut ante aedis illo pro tribunali et feres super mimo praeter Anael esset vastati! - I would drop him on the Judgment Seat before God this minute and allow this farce to be over, save Anael would be devastated!