The Ghost of Nottingham

Chapter 4

It's just that the moon was full

Henry awoke, the room freezing. He had been dreaming; his wife, Richard, Stephen Winchester screaming inside a frozen, icy dungeon cell.

The screaming was still echoing in his mind.

Henry shivered deep beneath the quilt. He wondered where the servants were, the room, his room should never be this cold. Surely the FitzGisborne's weren't so poor...

He knew better. This family could afford anything. He resolved to tax them heavily, regardless of the youth of the current earl. He sat up, deciding he would have to stir the hearth himself. Before he could push the blankets aside, the curtains of the canopy were thrown back, an icy blast further invading the bedroom. The quilts weretossed aside and Henry felt a burning cold hand grasp his ankle.

Usurper!

With that curse, he found himself yanked from the bed. He flew to the floor, but before he could yelp or demand an explanation, he felt himself jerked up by the same cold hand and dangling several inches above the floor, staring into cold, dead, familiar eyes.

"Edward?"

Murderer!

If anything, the room became colder as Henry felt himself slung across the room. The beating continued for minutes or an hour, Henry would never know or wish to remember. Finally, he was on his hands and knees, bent low before this demonic specter who looked so much like Edward FitzGisborne, yet swore with each blow that he was not.

I know what you did! I saw!

Henry was trying to hang on the best he could, to his facilities, his mind. "What do you want? If I can grant it, I will!"

Again, he felt the arctic chill of the thing's grip around his throat. Up, up, up they went until Henry's head was jammed against the high ceiling of the room, his feet, blue and dangling beneath him.

Oh, you will grant my desire.

"Yes, yes, anything." The fact he was hanging precariously in the air, held by a ghost, made Henry more anxious by the minute. "What do you want?"

Foxe's Fork.

Henry's eyes shot wide. Foxe's Fork was his instrument of taxation. Those who were paying high taxes could afford to continue to pay high taxes. Those who were not paying high taxes, had obviously saved money, therefore, their taxes were going up.

It does not pertain to FitzGisborne.

"The coffers are empty. The war was expensive. England must refill-"

Render unto Caesar, what belongs to Caesar.

"Yes! All must be taxed-"

You are not Caesar. Robert will make sure England gets her fair due. Not a crown more.

Anger finally asserted itself. "I will not cower before a dead man!"

One side of the ghost's mouth lifted in a smirk. Yes, you will.

One minute, Henry was pressed against the wall, the next, he hung up high, held flat, spread eagle, against the ceiling, while in mid air, the knight floating some feet from him, his boots hovering a foot from the carpet. His head was tipped back at a horrible, unnatural angle. Small ice particles floated around the ghost as glowing dust motes. The thing's skin fell away, a skull with blazing blue eyes stared up at him.

The room wavered, as if under water and suddenly, Elizabeth of York, his bride, his beloved wife, lay on the bed here at Locksley. She shivered in the cold, the slight thickening of her waist, where their child was planted, visible in beneath her thin nightdress.

She is beautiful.

Henry felt a grip of fear. "Yes, yes she is. Please don't harm her."

You... love her?

Henry's jaw flapped. "I have feelings for her, yes." In years to come, he would admit he was more than fond of his wife. He did indeed love her.

Again, the ghost smirked. Feelings. I suspect you have more than feelings.

Leaving Henry pressed against the ceiling, the knight hovered over Henry's sleeping bride. His blacked gloved hand spread wide, encased her womb. Elizabeth began to whimper as her stomach grew larger. There is a child? The rapid heartbeat of the babe was soon audible in the room.

Henry gasped. "Please. Please do not harm her."

You would do anything for her? The knight caressed her, causing her to cry out from the frosty touch. Her womb expanded, contorted, painfully. Anything for your child?

"Yesyesyes please name it!" Henry was back to begging.

Suddenly, the knight was face to face with him, his breath, an icy blast, the stench of death, so powerful on it. Leave my children alone. Leave what is theirs alone!

"I agree." It was blurted, rushed out like pouring water.

Tell your children to leave my children alone.

Elizabeth was still shivering. She pulled at a non-existent quilt, trying to cover herself. "Yes. I will tell them."

And their children.

"As long as Tudors sit on the throne, I promise they will leave the FitzGisborne's alone."

If you lie, if they do not, you will know how cold hell is.

"I promise, I promise. I will tell all of my children to treat the FitzGisborne's fairly."

The FitzGisbornes have always been loyal friends to the monarch, the spirit intoned. Robert will be a loyal friend to you. On the other hand, and with this he stopped, pulled back and smirked, I am not a FitzGisborne, so your death or that of your wife and child, would mean nothing to me.

Cold seized Henry's heart. "Who... who are you?"

An evil laughter echoed through the chamber. Why, I am good Sir Guy of Gisborne! His eyebrows rose in humor. You should see me when I am bad!

With that, Henry was slammed to the bed, the ghost gone and laughter still echoing through the room.

~~~...~~~

"My lady, I see the head!"

The younger FitzGisborne's had been taken into the convent, put in beds in the novice quarters, Sister Margaret, Sister Anne, and Cecilie aiding in the birth. Jehenne was sweating, naked in the room, the fire roaring.

"PUSH!"

Jehenne began to count, bearing down as she felt the babe move lower into the birth canal. She looked out the window. Aye. This babe would arrive with the dawn. Strange. All of her others had arrived at sunset.

"Good! Good!" Sister Margaret held her hands out. "Take my hands, my lady. To the birthing bench with you. Child," she gestured to Cecilie, "bring the large bowl to catch the waters and the afterbirth and then bring the blankets warmed by the fire. Your brother or sister is almost here."

Jehenne allowed the midwife to pull her up and forward to the edge of the bed. As she reached the edge of the bed, she felt a firm, familiar presence behind her, bracing her as she reached the bench. She gasped at the feathered kisses she felt at her brow.

I would not miss this. Push. Bring our daughter into the world.

"Push, Lady Jehenne! This one has Lord Edward's fine, black hair!"

Within a minute, a baby's indignant screaming rent the room.

And immediately, Jehenne missed the presence of her husband. She didn't have time to grieve the loss, as she pushed the afterbirth into the bowl. "My baby. I want to see my baby."

Her demand was met with angry crying, as Sister Anne washed the child, using a special spoon to clean the mouth and throat and nose. Cecilie held the warm blanket, wrapping the baby when the nun handed it to her. "'Tis a girl, mama. A girl."

"A big, strapping girl." Sister Anne helped wrap her and then took her from the girl and handed her to her mother.

Jehenne pulled the blanket back to stare at her new baby. She had her father's strong features and black hair. One tiny fist flailed at the air.

And at that moment, the sun broke over the horizon.

~~~...~~~

tbc