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

Made A Man. After His Homage Done, This

Youth Still Kneeling, His Hands Still Between Philip's Hands, Looked

Fixedly Into His Sovereign's Face, And 'A Boon, Fair Sire!' He Said. 'A

Boon To Your New Man!'

 

'What Now, Saint-Pol?' Asked King Philip.

 

'Sire,' He Said, 'My Sister's Marriage Is In You. I Beg You To Give Her

To Messire Gilles De Gurdun, A Good Knight Of Normandy.'

 

'That Is A Poor Marriage For Her, Saint-Pol,' Said The King,

Considering, 'And A Poor Marriage For Me, By Saint Mary. Why Should I

Enrich The King Of England, With Whom I Am At War? You Must Give Me

Reason For That.'

 

'I Will Give You This Reason,' Said Young Saint-Pol; 'It Is Because That

Devil Who Slew My Brother Will Have Her Else.'

 

King Philip Said, 'Why, I Can Give Her To One Who Will Hold Her Fast.

Your Gurdun Is A Norman, You Say? Well, But Count Richard In A Little

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 7 (Of The Crackling Of Thorns Under Pots) Pg 42

While Will Have Him Under His Hand; And How Are You Served Then?'

 

'I Doubt, Sire,' Replied Saint-Pol. 'Moreover, There Is This, If It

Please You To Hear It. When The Count Of Poictou Repudiated (As He Most

Villainously Did) My Sister, He Himself Gave Her To Gurdun. But I Fear

Him, Lest Seeing Her Any Other's He Should Take Her Again.'

 

'What Is This, Man?' Asked King Philip.

 

'Sire, He Writes Letters To My Sister That He Is A Free Man, And She

Keeps Them By Her And Often Reads Them In Secret. So She Was Caught But

Lately By My Lady Aunt, Reading One In Bed.'

 

The King's Brow Grew Very Black, For Though He Knew That Richard Would

Never Marry Madame, He Did Not Choose (But Resented) That Any Other

Should Know It. At This Moment Montferrat Came In, And Stood By His

Kinsman.

 

'Ah, Sire,' Said He, In Those Bloodhound Tones Of His, 'Give Us Leave To

Deal In This Business With Free Hands.'

 

'What Would You Do In It, Marquess?' Asked The King Fretfully.

 

'Kill Him, By God,' Said The Marquess; And Young Saint-Pol Added, 'Give

Us His Life, O Lord King.'

 

King Philip Thought. He Was Fresh From Making A Treaty With Richard; But

That Was In A War Of Requital Only, And Would Be Ended So Soon As The

Last Drop Had Been Drained From The Old King. What Would Follow The War?

He Was By This Time Cooler Towards Richard, Very Much Vexed At What He

Had Just Heard; He Could Not Help Remembering That Marriage With Alois

Would Have Been The Proper Reply To Scandalous Report. Should He Be

Able, When The War Was Done, To Squeeze Richard Into Marriage Or An

Equivalent In Lands? He Wondered, He Doubted Greatly. On The Other Hand,

If He And Richard Could Crush Old Henry, And Saint-Pol Afterwards Bruise

Richard--Why, What Was Philip But A Gainer?

 

Chewing The Fringe Of His Mantle As He Considered This And That,'If I

Give Madame Jehane In Marriage To Your Gurdun,' He Said Dubiously, 'What

Will Gurdun Do?'

 

Saint-Pol Named The Sum, A Fair One.

 

'But What Part Will He Take In The Quarrel?' Asked The King.

 

'He Will Take My Part, As He Is Bound, Sire.'

 

'Pest!' Cried Philip, 'Let Us Get At It. What Is This Part Of Yours?'

 

'The Part Of Him Who Has A Blood-Feud, My Lord,' Said Young Saint-Pol;

And The Marquess Said, 'That Is My Part Also.'

 

'Have It According To Your Desires, My Lords,' Then Said King Philip. 'I

Give You This Marriage. Make It As Speedily As May Be, But Let Not Count

Richard Have News Until It Is Done. There Is A Fire, I Tell You, Hidden

In That Tall Man. Remember This Too, Saint-Pol. You Shall Not Make War

On The Side Of England Against Richard, For That Will Be Against Me.

Your Feud Must Wait Its Turn. For This Present I Have An Account To

Settle In Which Poictou Is On My Side. Marquess, You Likewise Are In My

Debt. See To It That You Give My Enemies No Advantage.'

 

The Marquess And His Cousin Gave Their Words, Holding Up The Hilts Of

Their Swords Before Their Faces.

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Richard, In His City Of Poictiers, Was Calmly Forwarding His Plans. His

First Act, Since He Now Considered Himself Perfectly Free, Had Been To

Send Gaston Of Béarn With Letters To Saint-Pol-La-Marche; His Second,

Seeing No Reason Why He Should Wait For King Philip Or Any Possible

Ally, To Cross The Frontier Of Touraine In Force. He Took Castle After

Castle In That Rich Land, Clearing The Way For The Investiture Of Tours,

Which Was His First Great Objective.

 

I Leave Him At This Employment And Follow Gaston On His Way To The

North. It Was Early In March When That Young Man Started, Squally, Dusty

Weather; But Perfect Trobador As He Was, The Nature Of His Errand Warmed

Him; He Composed A Whole Nosegay Of Scented Songs In Honour Of Richard

And The Crocus-Haired Lady Of The March Who Wore The Broad Girdle.

Riding As He Did Through The Realm Of France, By Chateaudun, Chartres,

And Pontoise, He Narrowly Missed Eustace Of Saint-Pol, Who Was Galloping

The Opposite Way Upon An Errand Dead Opposed To His Own. Gaston Would

Have Fought Him, Of Course, But Would Have Been Killed To A Certainty;

For Saint-Pol Rode As Became His Lordship, With A Company, And The Other

Was Alone. He Was Spared Any Such Mischance, However, And Arrived In The

Highest Spirits, With An _Alba_ (Song Of The Dawn) For What He Supposed

To Be Jehane's Window. It Shows What An Eye He Had For A Lady's Chamber

That He Was Very Nearly Right. A Lady Did Put Her Head Out; Not Jehane,

But A Rock-Faced Matron Of Vast Proportions With Grey Hair Plastered To

Her Cheeks.

 

'Behold, Behold The Dawn, My Tender Heart!' Breathed Gaston.

 

'Out, You Cockerel,' Said The Old Lady, And Gaston Wooed Her In Vain. It

Appeared That She Was An Aunt, Sworn To The Service Of The Count, And

Had Jehane Safe In A Tower Under Lock And Key. Gaston Retired Into The

Woods To Meditate. There He Wrote Five Identic Notes To The Prisoner.

The First He Gave To A Boy Whom He Found Birds'-Nesting. 'Take A

Turtle's Nest, Sweet Boy,' Said Gaston, 'To My Lady Jehane; Say It Is

First-Fruits Of The Year, And Win A Silver Piece. Beware Of An Old Lady

With A Jaw Like A Flat-Iron.' The Second He Gave To A Woodman Tying

Billets For The Castle Ovens; The Third A Maid Put In Her Placket, And

He Taught Her The Fourth By Heart In A Manner Quite His Own And Very

Much To Her Taste. With The Fifth He Was Most Adroit. He Demanded An

Interview With The Duenna, Whose Name Was Dame Gudule. She Accorded.

Gaston Spilled His Very Soul Out Before Her; He Knelt To Her, He Kissed

Her Large Velvet Feet. The Lady Was Touched, I Mean Literally, For

Gaston As He Stooped Fitted His Fifth Note Into The Braid Of Her Ample

Skirt. The Only One To Arrive Was The Boy's In The Bird's Nest. The Boy

Wanted His Silver Piece, And Got It. So Jehane Had Another Note To

Cherish.

 

But She Had To Answer It First. It Said, '_Vera Copia_. Ma Mye, I Set On

To The Burden You Gave Me, But It Failed Of Breaking My Back. I Have

Punished Some Of The Wicked, And Have Some Still To Punish. When This Is

Done I Shall Come To You. Wait For Me. I Regret Your Brother's Death.

He Deserved It. The Fight Was Fair. Learn Of Me From Gaston.--Richard Of

Anjou.' Her Answer Was Leaping In Her Heart; She Led The Boy To The

Window.

 

'Look Down, Boy, And Tell Me What You Can See.'

 

'_Dame_!' Said The Boy, 'I See The Moat, And Ducks On It.'

 

'Look Again, Dear, And Tell Me What You See.'

 

'I See An Old Fish On His Back. He Is Dead.'

 

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Jehane Laughed Quietly. 'He Has Been There Many Days. Tell The Knight

Who Sent You To Stand Thereabout, Looking Up. Tell Him Not To Be There

At Any Hour Save That Of Mass, Or Vespers. Will You Do This, Dear Boy?'

 

'Certain Sure,' Said The Boy. Jehane Gave Him Money And A Kiss, Then

Fastened Herself To The Window.

 

Gaston Excelled In Pantomime. Every Day For A Week He Saw Jehane At Her

Window, And Enacted Many Strange Plays. He Showed Her The Old King

Stormy In His Tent, The Meagre White Unrest Of Alois, The Outburst At

Autafort And Bertran De Born With His Tongue Out; The Meeting At Tours,

The Battle, The Death Of The Count Her Brother. He Was Admirable On

Richard's Love-Desires. There Could Be No Doubt At All About Them.

Pricked By His Feats In This Sort, Jehane Overcame Her Reserve And

Turned Her Members Into Marionettes. She Puffed Her Cheeks, Hung Her

Head, Scowled Upwards: There Was Gilles De Gurdun To The Life. She

Looped Finger And Thumb Of The Right Hand And Pierced Them With The Ring

Finger: Ohè! Her Fate. Gaston In Reply To This Drew His Sword And Ran A

Cypress-Tree Through The Body. Jehane Shook A Sorrowful Head, But He

Waved All Such Denials Away With A Hand So Expressive That Jehane Broke

The Window And Leaned Her Body Out. Gaston Uttered A Cheerful Cry.

 

Have No Fear, Lovely Prisoner. If That Is His Intention He Is Gone. I

Kill Him. It Is Arranged.'

 

'My Brother Eustace Is In Paris,' Says Jehane In A Low But Carrying

Voice, 'To Get My Marriage From The King.'

 

'Again I Say, Fear Nothing,' Gaston Cried; But Jehane Strained Out As

Far As She Could.

 

'You Must Go Away From Here. The Window Is Broken Now, And They Will

Find Me Out. Take A Message To My Lord. If He Is Free Indeed, He Knows

Me His In Life Or Death. I Seek To Do Him Service. Wed Or Unwed, What Is

That To Me? I Am Still Jehane.'

 

'Your Name Is Red Heart, And Golden Rose, And Loiale Amye! Farewell,

Star Of The North,' Said Gaston On His Knees. 'I Seek This Gurdun