The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91, Maurice Hewlett [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 6 (Fruits Of The Tenzon The Back Of Saint Pol And The Front Of Montferrat) Pg 36

That He Wrote To Jehane That Sixth Letter, Which She Received: 'I Make

War, But The Cause Is Righteous. Never Misjudge Me, Jehane.'

 

The End Of It Was A Combat _À Outrance_ In The Meads By The Loire, With

All Tours On The Walls To Behold It. Richard Was Quite Frank About The

Part He Proposed To Himself. 'The Man Must Die,' He Told The Dauphin Of

Auvergne, 'Even Though He Have Spoken The Truth. As To That I Am Not

Sure, I Am Not Yet Informed. But He Is Not Fit To Live On Any Ground. By

These Slanders Of His He Has Disgraced The Name And Outraged The Honour

Of The Most Lovely Lady In The World, Whose Truest Misfortune Is To Be

His Sister; By The Same Token I Must Punish Him For The Dignity Of The

Lady I Am (At Present) Designed To Wed. She Is Always The Daughter Of

His Liege-Lord. What!'--He Threw His Head Up--'Is Not A Daughter Of

France Worth A Broken Back?'

 

'Tu-Dieu, Yes,' Says The Dauphin; 'But It Is A Stoutish Back, Richard.

It Is A Back Which Ranks High. Kings Clap It Familiarly. Conrad Of

Montferrat Calls It A Cousin's Back. The Emperor Has Embraced It At An

Easter Fair.'

 

'I Would As Soon Break Conrad's Back As His, Dauphin, Believe Me,'

Richard Replied; 'But Conrad Has Said Nothing. And There Is Another

Reason.'

 

'I Have Thought Myself Of A Reason Against It,' The Dauphin Said

Quickly, Yet With A Flutter Of Timidity. 'This Man's Name Is Saint-Pol.'

 

Richard Grew Bleak In A Moment. 'That,' He Said, 'Is Why I Shall Kill

Him. He Seeks To Drive Us To Marriage. Injurious Beast! His Name Is

Pandarus.' Then He Left The Dauphin And Shut Himself Up Until The Day Of

Battle.

 

They Had Formed Lists In The Loire Meads: A Red Pavilion With Leopards

Upon It For The Count Of Poictou, A Blue Pavilion Streaked With

Basilisks In Silver For The Count Of Saint-Pol. The Crowd Was Very

Great, For The City Was Full Of People; In The Tribune The King Of

England's Throne Was Left Empty Save For A Drawn Sword; But One Sat

Beside It As Arbiter For The Day Of Life And Death, And That Was Prince

John, Richard's Brother, By Richard Summoned From Paris, And Most

Unwillingly There. Bishop Hugh Of Durham Sat Next Him, And Marvelled To

See The Sweat Glisten On His Forehead On A Day When All The World Else

Felt The North Wind To Their Bones. 'Are You Suffering, Dear Lord?' 'Eh,

Bishop Hugh, Bishop Hugh, This Is A Mad Day For Me!' 'By God,' Thought

Hugh Of Durham, 'And So It Might Prove, My Man!'

 

They Blew Trumpets; And At The Second Sounding Saint-Pol, The

Challenger, Rode Out On A Big Grey Horse, Himself In A Hauberk Of Chain

Mail With A Coif Of The Same, And A Casque Wherein Three Grey Heron's

Feathers. This Was The Badge Of The House: Jehane Wore Heron's Feathers.

He Had A Blue Surcoat And Blue Housings For His Horse. Behind Him,

Esquire Of Honour, Rode The Young Amadeus Of Savoy, Carrying His Banner,

A White Basilisk On A Blue Field. Saint-Pol Was A Burly Man, Bearing His

Honours Squarely On Breast And Back.

 

They Sounded For The Count Of Poictou, Who Came Presently Out Of His

Tent And Lightly Swung Himself Into The Saddle--A Feat Open To Very Few

Men Armed In Mail. As He Came Cantering Down The Long Lists No Man Could

Fail To Mark The Size And Splendid Ease He Had; But Some Said, 'He Is

Younger By Five Years Than Saint-Pol, And Not So Stout A Man.' He Had A

Red Plume Above His Leopard Crest, A White Surcoat Over His Hauberk,

With Three Red Leopards Upon It. His Shield Was Of The Same Blazon, So

Also The Housings Of His Horse. The Dauphin Of Auvergne Carried His

Banner. The Two Men Came Together, Saluted With Ceremony, Then Turned

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 6 (Fruits Of The Tenzon The Back Of Saint Pol And The Front Of Montferrat) Pg 37

With Spears Uplift To The Tribune, The Throned Sword, The Sweating

Prince Beside It.

 

This One Now Rose Up And Caught At His Chair, To Give The Signal. 'Oh,

Richard Of Anjou, Do Thou On The Body Of Saint-Pol What Thy Faith

Requires Of Thee; And Do Thou, Eudo, Uphold The Right Thou Hast, In The

Name Of God In Trinity And Of Our Lady.' The Bishop Of Tours Blessed

Them Both And The Issue, They Wheeled Apart, And The Battle Began. It

Was Short, Three Careers Long. At The First Shock Richard Unhorsed His

Man; At The Second He Unhelmed Him With A Deep Flesh-Furrow In The

Cheek; At The Third He Drove Down Horse And Man Together And Broke The

Count's Back. Saint-Pol Never Moved Again.

 

The Moment It Was Over, In The Silence Of All, Prince John Came Down

From The Tribune And Fell Upon Richard's Neck. 'Oh, Dearest Brother,'

Cried He, 'What Should I Have Done If The Worst Had Befallen You? I

Cannot Bear To Think Of It.'

 

'Oh, Brother,' Richard Said Very Quietly, 'I Think You Would Have Borne

It Very Well. You Would Have Married Madame Alois, And Paid For A Mass

Or Two For Me Out Of The Dowry.'

 

This Raking Shot Was Heard By Everybody. John Grew Red As Fire. 'Why,

What Do You Mean, Richard?' He Stammered.

 

And Richard, 'Are My Words So Encumbered? Think Them Over, Get Them By

Heart. So Doing, Be Pleased To Ride With Me To Paris.' At This The

Colour Left John's Face.

 

'Ah! To Paris?' He Looked As If He Saw Death Under A Bush.

 

'That Is Where We Must Go,' Said Richard, 'So Soon As We Have Prayed For

That Poor Blind Worm On The Ground, Who Now Haply Sees Wherein He Has

Offended.'

 

'Conrad Of Montferrat, Cousin Of This Dead, Is There, Richard,' Said The

Other With Intention; But Richard Laughed.

 

'In A Very Good Hour We Shall Find Him. I Have To Give Him News Of His

Cousin Saint-Pol. What Is He There For?'

 

'It Is In The Matter Of The Kingdom Of Jerusalem. He Seeks Sibylla And

That Crown, And Is Like To Get Them.'

 

'I Think Not, John, I Think Not. We Will Fill His Head With Other

Thoughts; We Will Set It Wanting Mine. Your Chance Is A Fair One Yet,

Brother.'

 

Prince John Laughed, But Not Comfortably. 'Your Tongue Bites, Richard.'

 

'Pooh,' Says Richard, 'What Else Are You Worth? I Save My Teeth'; And

Went His Ways.

 

In Paris Richard Repaired To The Tower Of His Kinsman The Count Of

Angoulesme, But His Brother To The Abbey Of Saint-Germain. The Poictevin

Herald Bore Word To King Philip-Augustus On Richard's Part; Prince John,

As I Suppose, Bore His Own Word Whither He Had Most Need For It To Go.

It Is Believed That He Contrived To See Madame Alois In Private; And If

That Great Purple Cape That Held Him In Talk For Nearly An Hour By A

Windy Corner Of The Prè-Aux-Clercs Did Not Cover The Back Of Montferrat,

Then Gossip Is A Liar, Richard, For His Part, Took No Account Of John

And His Shifts; A Wave Of Disgust For The Creeping Youth Had Filled The

Stronger Man, And Having Got Him Into Paris There Seemed Nothing Better

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 6 (Fruits Of The Tenzon The Back Of Saint Pol And The Front Of Montferrat) Pg 38

To Do With Him Than To Let Him Alone. But That Sensitive Gorge Of

Richard's Was One Of His Worst Enemies: If He Did Not Mean To Hold The

Snake In The Stick, He Had Better Not Have Cleft The Stick. As For John

And His Writhing, I Am Only Half Concerned With Them; But Let Me Tell

You This. Whatever He Did Or Did Not Sprang Not From Hatred Of This Or

That Man, But From Fear, Or From Love Of His Own Belly. Every Prince Of

The House Of Anjou Loved Inordinately Some Member Of Himself, Some A

Noble Member Nobly, And Others Basely A Base Member. If John Loved His

Belly, Richard Loved His Royal Head: But Enough. To Be Done With All

This, Richard Was Summoned To The French King Hot-Foot, Within A Day Or

Two Of His Coming; Went Immediately With His Chaplain Anselm And Other

One Or Two, And Was Immediately Received. He Had, In Fact, Obeyed In

Such Haste That He Found Two In The Audience-Chamber Instead Of One.

With Philip Of France Was Conrad Of Montferrat, A Large, Pale,

Ruminating Italian, Full Of Bluster And Thick Blood. The French King Was

A Youth, Just The Age Of Jehane, Of The Thin, Sharp, Black-And-White

Mould Into Which Had Run The Dregs Of Capet. He Was Smooth-Faced Like A

Girl, And Had No Need To Shave; His Lips Were Very Thin, Set Crooked In

His Face. So Far As He Was Boy He Loved And Admired Richard, So Far As

He Was Capet He Distrusted Him With All The Rest Of The World.

 

Richard Knelt To His Suzerain And Was By Him Caught Up And Kissed.

Philip Made Him Sit At His Side On The Throne. This Put Montferrat, Who

Was Standing, Sadly Out Of Countenance, For He Considered Himself (As

Perhaps He Was) The Superior Of Any Man Uncrowned.

 

It Seems That Some News Had Drifted In On The West Wind. 'Richard, Oh,

Richard!' The King Began, Half Whimsical And Half Vexed, 'What Have You

Been Doing In Touraine?'

 

'Fair Sire,' Answered Richard, 'I Have Been Doing What Will, I Fear,

Give Pain To Our Cousin Montferrat. I Have Been Breaking The Back Of The

Count Of Saint-Pol.' At This The Marquess, Suffused With Dark Blood Till

He Was Colour Of Lead, Broke Out, Pointing His Finger As Well As His

Words. As The Bilge-Water Jets From A Ketch When The Hold Is Surcharged,

So Did The Marquess Jet His Expletives.

 

'Ha, Sire! Ha, King Of France! Now Give Me Leave To Break This Brigand's

Back, Who Robs And Reviles In One Breath. Touch Of The Gospel, Is It To

Be Borne?' Foaming With Rage, He Lunged Forward A Step Or Two, His Hand

Upon His Long Sword. Richard Slowly Got Up From The Throne And Stood His

Full Height.

 

'Marquess, You Use Words I Will Not Hear--'

 

King Philip Broke In--'Fair Lords, Sweet Lords--'; But Richard Put His

Hand Up, Having A Kingly Way With Him Which