The Ghost of Nottingham

Chapter 2

Here Comes your Ghost again

Robert and Esabelle scurried down the side hall on the opposite side of the Hall. The estate had been rebuilt in Roland's years, and added on to by each of the subsequent earls. Timothy followed behind. It was not lost on any of the trio that the mansion was groaning as if there were a great wind whipping about the corners of the walls. The three entered Robert's childhood bedroom and shut the door. Quickly Esabelle lit the lamps, the fireplace already burning brightly. Clothes for the couple had been brought to the room, in anticipation of the king's arrival.

"You have warned the servants?"

"They are leaving the dishes to soak, only putting away the food. They have been ordered not to return until sunrise." Timothy was quick to continue. "By now, the only servant in the hall is myself." Robert looked and took after his mother's side of the family, therefore he was not tall and his father's head knight looked down on him. "What was said after I left?"

Robert thought for a moment. "Father seemed to know what was going to happen before the battle, isn't that correct, Timothy?"

The elder knight thought a moment before responding. "Your father was very perceptive."

Robert knew that his father's man was loyal to him, loyal to the bone, and anything discussed would go no further. "He knew Richard would fail. He knew Henry would wreak vengeance on those who supported Richard and would not leave his side! It is the only logical explanation for him to stand aside, renounce his title, and name me Lord. He knew, he knew!"

The three stood in silence, white-faced. Timothy would never forget the look of pure anguish on Robert's face that last night before Edward left, the sight of his father kneeling before his son and pledging his life to him, as a vassal, a common knight.

He gave his life; gave his life to ensure his line.

"Why did he leave you behind?" Robert whispered. "You were his best, strongest knight."

"Now I am your strongest knight, my lord," Timothy began quietly. "Your family's well-being is my pledge. He made me promise to keep you and the others safe, no matter what it took. Even if-" he cut himself off.

"Even if what?"

"Even if I must hie you from England and burn Locksley, Harridston, Gisborne, and Eastbrook to the ground." He nodded. "He bid me promise. No one else will have it. I will do it."

Robert stared at his lead knight. "You know I received a missive yesterday, before the king and his entourage arrived. A missive from France."

"Yes."

"Gui de Gisbourne is dead. Aigues-Mortes and Nîmes are mine. What do you think Henry would do if he knew I was now Lord of Aigues-Mortes and the Duke of Nîmes?"

Timothy didn't wait a moment. "He would award your guardianship to anyone he considered loyal to him."

"And we would have nowhere to hide. This information must not become public. Especially if we must flee." He lifted his chin, the glint in his eyes so reminiscent of his father. "I will help you burn Locksley, Harridston, Gisborne, and Eastbrook. I will be damned before I allow the likes of Henry or his ilk one brick of any of it."

"Rob?" Esabelle was tugging on her husband's sleeve. "Henry legitimized Elizabeth in order to marry her, correct?"

Richard, upon his brother's death – who was king before Richard – declared his brother's marriage null and void, causing the children of the union to be illegitimate and therefore, unsuitable for the throne and disinherited. The two sons from the union then disappeared, their last known whereabouts being the Tower of London. Their fate or current whereabouts were unknown.

"Yes."

"Husband," Esabelle was young, barely aged 15, but she was uncommonly bright and intelligent. When the betrothal contracts were signed when she was still in swaddling, Edward insisted she be educated in all subjects, including languages, maths, and astronomy. He insisted she be knowledgeable in herb lore and healing arts, in addition to other womanly pursuits. If she expressed an interest in it, she was to be taught, catered to. As a result, Robert had an uncommonly astute bride, one who was capable of holding diverse conversations. "If he legitimized Elizabeth, he also legitimized her brothers; her brothers, who have more claim to the throne than Henry does."

"My lady, be careful what you say!"

Robert ignored the knight. "What are you implying?"

"Henry didn't have to marry Elizabeth. Yes, he is trying to unite the Houses and end the war, but by legitimizing Elizabeth, her brothers have more claim to the throne than he does!" She stared straight into her husband's eyes. "I think it is likely he had them killed or knows beyond all doubt for them to be dead." With this pronouncement, her voice dropped to hoarse whisper. "If he knew Richard killed them, all he had to do was say the word. He has not." Much to Robert's insatiable glee, she began to elaborate. "Henry was up in arms that Richard was rumored to want to marry Elizabeth for himself. Richard loved Anne. Loved her! Why on earth would Richard marry not only his niece, but his illegitimate niece? He wouldn't marry her for the same reasons Henry couldn't marry her if she were illegitimate!"

"Not to mention it would be disgusting!" Timothy swore quietly.

"It makes no sense," Robert quietly agreed, "unless it was gossip begun to stir the masses! It is food to ponder on, but right this moment, we have a larger problem to worry about and that is surviving the night."

Yet another howl of wind shook the frame of the home.

"He is angry," Timothy murmured, his eyes roaming the ceiling. "Very angry."

"Go across the hall to sleep. My younger brother was a slug-a-bed, so I suspect his bed is rather comfortable. Do not argue." They watched from the door as Timothy left the room and took his lamp across the hall, shutting the door and dropping the bar. The young couple then did the same.

"Rob?" While the marriage had been arranged, Esabelle and Robert knew each other from childhood and were very much in love by the time they repeated marriage vows. "What is going on?"

"The walls are angry," Robert repeated Timothy's words. "Very angry."

"Rob, you're scaring me."

"You should be very afraid." He began to strip off his doublet and hose. "I am terrified! I wish I had sent you to Ripley's with Mother and the children. You would be safer there."

"I wouldn't go!"

"I know you wouldn't and I was weak and allowed you your way. My father would not have!"

"Rob! Please!"

"Shhh!" He put his hand over her mouth. "Winchester is not here as a faithful retainer to Henry. He came for one purpose and one purpose only. He believes he is to take possession of Locksley, Gisborne Hall and Eastbrook!"

"But he can't-"

"But he can if he is given guardianship over me. Timothy was right. He is a leech. He would take everything, murder us all one by one and take what he can for himself. I would not be surprised if he hasn't already filched the candlesticks and a few silver goblets! Long have the Winchesters hated the FitzGisbornes, have coveted what was ours. They are weak. We are strong. Turn around." Quickly, nimble fingers undid her ties. "Mother is French, not English. She was a great heiress, an only child and Father gained her property in France when her father died. Winchester has demanded Mother's hand and that way he will take not only what is mine in England, but thinks to take what is mine and hers in France. He is a snake."

"Your family has a habit of marrying lone daughters with great wealth! Is that why you married me?"

Robert kissed her then. "Of course not! I married you for your magnificent tits!" He continued quickly, talking over her protests. "Henry is fiscally responsible, however, he is learning quickly, he will need money in his treasury and he will look to those of us with money to fill it. Those who are paying taxes will pay more and those who haven't paid taxes, according to his fork, his tax table, should have money saved up to pay taxes. Regardless, he is eyeing what is ours and while I will give him his due, I will not give him more." By now, both Esabelle and Robert were stark naked as she crawled into bed. Robert blew out all the lamps, stoking the fireplace to a roar. As he joined his wife, the fire shuddered, the wind outside whipping against the walls and down through the chimney. "Winchester also needs a wife and he wants his most hated rival's widow. It would be a feather in his cap to wed Mother and he doesn't realize that she would stab him in his bed rather than lie beneath him." He swallowed once. "The walls know that as well."

"The walls. The walls! What do you mean the walls are angry?"

Robert was quiet for a moment, stroking his wife's long blonde hair away from her face. "Tonight, my fore-bearers will openly walk these halls and will deal with our so-called guests." Robert cuddled her to him, pulling the quilts up. "The walls is home to them, my ancestors, their spirits. Sir Guy of Gisborne, to be exact, and he is very angry. The cold ushers him, bids him welcome. He stirs and the very foundation trembles at his footstep. I have no doubt Winchester will die by his hand this night. I pray he does not kill the king."

~~~...~~~

Deep in the crypt of Ripley's, where vines and mold thrived, where bodies slowly decayed, dust swirled around the ancient stone floor, trailings of invisible footsteps become visible to those who lived in the dark. An eerie glow lit the dank corridor, as a tall being in draping robes walked the path. As she approached a solitary niche, black wings unfurled, the tips tracing in the ground. Spiraling, ever-changing eyes looked down at the faded, tattered remnants of a once bright family banner, the breeze from her passing ruffling the decrepit material.

Rise! Rise! Your children cry out for you.

Long, skeletal legs emerged from the side of the sarcophagus, the rest of the body following. Remnants of leather, sinew, and hanks of long, black hair clung to the bones. As his legs hung over the edge, He propped his elbows on his bony knees and rested his skull in his hands. Already? I just died!

The angel stopped in her tracks. Henry attempts to count and acquire what you have accrued over all these centuries and leans towards appointing a guardian over your heir and your family.

Wot?

A Winchester, at that.

The fek, you say!

Several long dead nuns leaned out from their own resting places, fury in their faces, and long fingers over their mouths.

Language! Shhh! Remember where you lay!

The angel wasn't quite finished pestering her charge. And Winchester has his eyes on your widow.

The skeleton shot to his feet, eyes first, followed by clothing, skin, hair filling in. He pulled up to his terrible height. NO! Not Jehenne!

Then hurry. Douma was wasting no time. You do not have much time before you breathe the air again. She took in his puzzled look. Sunrise. Jehenne's labor has begun.

He grasped his side, ensuring his sword was still attached to it. He is mine to deal with.

Winchester, yes. It is his time, and I think you would enjoy his taking more than I.

The knight's grin was evil. And the pretender?

Him? You may frighten, but you may not take his life.

The dark knight scowled and stormed down the corridor, his sword swinging and banging against his leg. Fek my eyes!

Almost every nun laid to rest in the crypt stuck their heads out of their coffins. SHHHHHH! My son! Your language!

Oh, shut it and sod off!

Douma was smiling as she watched the knight rise in the air and disappear, still cursing as he rose through the floor and into the gardens.

~~~...~~~

Not so far, but far enough, the nuns of Ripley's settled for the night, only the one sister, whose job it was to chant through the night, keeping the proper time, up and awake. She was in the chapel, surrounded by candles and listening to the evil howling of the early spring wind. Despite the fire in the fireplace and the warmth of the braziers, she shivered in her habit, wishing she had worn her winter woolens this night. Never missing a beat of her chant, she picked up a pillow she kept hidden behind an alcove and placing it in front the fire, along with a jug of wine and the poker to keep the fire going.

Sometimes, her throat hurt or she had a headache and tonight was one of those nights. Rather than sing aloud, she made sure she was alone and stopped verbalizing the chant, instead tapping the number of beats off in her head. It was when she went silent that she heard it. A hiss in the grate, carried on the wind.

Uuuusuuuuuuuuuuuuurperrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

The counting in her head stopped, although her foot continued to tap. She breathed and prepared to start again...

Muuurrrrrrrrrdeerrrrrrrrrrrerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

She fell to her knees, her head pressed to the cold stone, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Mea Regina! Mater mea!

Tua sint omnia, et...

~~~...~~~

Jehenne FitzGisborne rolled over, the pain in her back increasing. She knew this pain, knew what it meant and as she slid from the bed with a groan, went to stand in front of the fireplace. The fire was low, but warmth still wafted from the hearth. For not the first time, she was grateful to Edward's ancestor – William Edward, whom her husband, as well as one of her sons, was named after – who built this small home on the grounds of Ripley's for his poor, delusional wife. The woman had tried to kill their two sons, had killed their baby daughter, convinced their sacrifice would halt the famine that plagued England at the time. Unable to set her aside and warned if she died a too-soon, unnatural death, the family would pay dearly, William instead retired her to the convent, spent a season building her a comfortable home in the gardens, giving the convent a large donation on top of the yearly boons the FitzGisborne's gave the convent for her care, and actually waited many years before taking a young mistress and openly residing at Gisborne Hall with her. Gisborne Hall was more spacious, but considering the climate in the air, war, the murder of the king...Ripley's was safer. The moment word came that the Tudor King was coming to Locksley, Robert had the family packed and on their way to Ripley's within the hour. Melisande's Mansion, as the children called it, was a tight fit for four young children and a pregnant woman, but hopefully they would be able to go home soon.

If not, as soon as she was safely delivered and could move about, they would be sneaking off to France, to Aigues-Mortes. The way was planned, set. She had met Edward's Uncle Gui, many times. She adored the crotchety old man, as did Edward and the children. He would welcome them. If anything else, there was her family estate, as well as a mostly forgotten estate from the wife of one of Edward's ancestors. One that would come to Robert when his elderly uncle passed.

Estates had a way of staying in the FitzGisborne family.

Dampness rolled down her legs. It had begun.

She bit back a cry, sorrow again over-whelming her. Edward would not be here to see this child take breath, to raise it, hold it. He had been an attentive father, a devoted husband. He was hard and cold at times and harsh, but he was just and fair and again, her grief took her. For not the first time since realizing she was pregnant, she prayed for a son, a son who looked just like his father. That was the one thing that eluded her. In the galleries at Locksley, portraits, tapestries hung of the FitzGisborne's and her husband's tall, dark features dominated each one. Dark or black curling hair, vivid blue or grey eyes, long of limb and yes, long of nose. The first time Jehenne laid eyes on Edward, she fell in love with that sharp nose. She fell in love with the rest of him soon after.

But none of their children had his features. The girls and his second son had his dark hair and height, but their eldest, Robert, was blonde and fair like herself and not so tall. But he had his father's eyes and his penchant for secrecy.

Edward was a spy for King Richard. She knew that within weeks after marrying the man. He roamed England and France for the king, scouting the possibility of regaining the old Plantagenet lands. A difficult task, seeing how the King of France was also his liege lord over Edward's... no... Robert's properties in France. She also knew that the FitzGisbornes were wealthy beyond imagining and that the vast majority of their wealth lay hidden in the dungeons and hidden wine cellars of Aigues-Mortes, Nîmes, and Locksley. She suspected there was such a hidden cellar beneath Gisborne as well. If Edward had not told Robert if this were so, she feared that cellar would be doomed to stay hidden forever.

For what the FitzGisbornes wished to hide remained secret for centuries.

A hard tug pulled at her womb and she groaned despite herself. So she was not surprised, when her eldest daughter knocked at her door. "Mama?"

"Cecilie! Come child." The door opened and in the pale light of her daughter's lamp, she could see Ameis and William behind her.

"Mama? Are you alright?"

A hard pain drew down on her. Edward's children never lay in the womb long, once they decided to come into the world. A few hours, at the most and for that, she was grateful. Sunrise. This child would greet the sun. Her others had welcomed the sun at its setting. As soon as it eased, she addressed her daughter. "Dress quickly and rouse Sister Margaret. Tell her the newest FitzGisborne is in a hurry." She shouted after her as the girl ran from the room. "Dress warm. 'Tis like winter out!" Within minutes, Cecilie was out the door, a lamp in hand, her brother's boots on her feet and her cloak wrapped haphazardly around her.

Another pain hit Jehenne. Ah Edward! I need you here...not in some cold, stone crypt, dead...

~~~...~~~

Cecilie had been terrified of the dark as a young child. Many times, she woke up in the middle of the night, crying for the lack of the moon or fire in her room. Always, it was her Papa who came to her rescue.

When it is dark, you call to me, I will be here. Darkness is where I live. It is my friend. Darkness and FitzGisbornes, we walk hand in hand.

Except Papa was dead, killed in that horrible battle next to King Richard and now England had a King Henry and those who were loyal to King Richard were now petrified at the thought of losing their lives and their homes.

She knew plans were made to take them to France if England turned ugly. Truth was, she preferred France, preferred their Gisbourne home near the Great Sea. They visited Aigues-Mortes when she was three and along with the steward's young son, the two went into the vineyard and ate grapes until they puked. Her mother was very angry, but her Papa only laughed.

I'm the same with the honeysuckle. He lifted her high into the air, onto his shoulder, bathed her, and put her in her bed.

Some days later, she and Robert and their Papa found a hedge covered in honeysuckle and ate the honey from the stems until all three were quite bloated. Mother was again very angry, but Papa laughed and kissed her and grabbed her behind, making her squeal and forget about two children who had over-indulged. There was a large hammock between the trees and she and Robert tucked themselves beneath Papa's long arms and fell asleep.

She missed her Papa. Missed him terribly. At least she had memories of him, unlike the new baby on its way. He or she would never meet their Papa.

The wind picked up and blew down into the covered lantern, blowing the candle out and leaving Cecilie in complete darkness. She stopped, trying to force her eyes to adjust. She wasn't that far from the convent, the kitchen door...

"Papa, please," she whispered. "I'm so frightened..."

Shhh.

Looking about, she felt a firm and familiar grip take her elbow.

'Tis alright. The darkness and Gisbornes. We are friends.

"Papa?"

Shhh.

She quickly found herself on the threshold of the kitchen, the warm glow of the coals, inviting and a harsh contrast to cold and darkness outside. She turned to her companion...

He stood a ways from the door, from her. He looked like her father, but she could tell he was not. His clothing was different, his hair longer. "Who are you? You're not my Papa!"

The moon came out from the behind the clouds and Cecilie realized she could see the plants through the man's form. You are a Gisborne. Gisborne's are strong and walk in the darkness. Hurry now. Your mother needs you.

"A Gisborne? A...Gis...Sir Guy?"

He laid a single, glove-covered finger over his lips. With that, he dissipated into thousands of moonbeams and swirled off towards Locksley.

Her screams woke up the cook and the nuns who slept near the kitchens.

~~~...~~~

tbc

~~~...~~~