The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91, Maurice Hewlett [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Maurice Hewlett
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Foot His Head Was Level With The Rider's Shield. 'Have At You Now!' He
Cried; But The Marshal Shook His Head, And Rode After His Flying Men.
The Day Was With Poictou, Le Mans Must Fall.
It Fell, But Not Yet; Nor Did Richard See It Fall. Gaston Of Béarn
Joined His Master The Next Day. 'Hasten, Hasten, Fair Lord!' He Cried
Out As Soon As He Saw Him. Richard Looked As If He Had Never Known The
Word.
'What News Of Normandy, Gaston?'
'The English Are Through, Richard. The Country Swarms With Them. They
Hold Avranches, And Now Are Moving South.'
'They Are Too Late,' Said Richard. 'Tell Me What Message You Have From
The Fair-Girdled.'
'Wed Or Unwed, She Is Yours. But She Is Kept In A Tower Until Palm
Sunday. Then They Bring Her Out And Marry Her To What Remains Of A Black
Normandy Pig. Not Very Much Remains, But (They Tell Me) Enough For The
Purpose.'
'Spine Of God,' Said Richard, Examining His Finger-Nails.
'Swear By His Heart, Rather, My Count,' Gaston Said, 'For You Have A Red
Heart In Your Keeping. Eh, Eh, What A Beautiful Person Is There! She
Leaned Her Body Out Of The Window--What A Shape That Girdle Confines!
Bowered Roses! Dian And The Nymphs! Bosomed Familiars Of Old Pan! And
What Emerald Fires! What Molten Hair! The Words Came Shortly From Her,
And Brokenly, As If Her Carved Lips Disdained Such Coarse Uses! Richard,
Her Words Were So: "Take A Message To My Lord," Quoth She. "I Am His In
Life Or Death. I Seek To Do Him Service. Wed Or Unwed, What Is That To
Me? I Am Still Jehane." Thus She--But I? Well, Well, My Sword Spake For
Me When I Carved That Beef-Bone Bare.' The Béarnais Pulled His Goatee,
And Looked At The Ends Of It For Split Hairs. But Richard Sat Very
Still.
'Do You Know, Gaston, Whom You Have Seen?' He Said Presently, In A
Trembling Whisper.
'Perfectly Well,' Said The Other. 'I Have Seen A Pale Flower Ripe For
The Sun.'
'You Have Seen The Countess Of Poictou, Gaston,' Said Richard, And Took
To His Prayers.
Through These Means, For The Time, He Was Held Off His Father's Throat.
But For Jehane And Her Urgent Affairs These Two Had Grappled At Le Mans.
As It Was, Not Richard's Hand Was To Fire The Cradle-City Which Had Seen
King Henry At The Breast. Before Nightfall He Had Made His Dispositions
For A Very Risky Business. He Set Aside The Viscount Of Béziers, Bertram
Count Of Roussillon, Gaston Of Béarn, To Go With Him, Not Because They
Were The Best Men By Any Means, But So That He Might Leave The Best Men
In Charge. These Were Certainly The Dauphin, The Viscount Of Limoges,
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 8 (How They Held Richard Off From His Father's Throat) Pg 48And The Count Of Angoulesme, Each Of Whom He Had Proved As An Enemy In
His Day. 'Gentlemen,' He Said To These Three, 'I Am About To Go Upon A
Journey. Of You I Shall Require A Little Attention, Certain Patience,
Exact Obedience. It Will Be Necessary That You Be Before The Walls Of Le
Mans In Three Days. Invest Them, My Lords, Keep Up Your Communications,
And Wait For The French King. Give No Battle, Offer No Provocation, Let
Hunger Do Your Affair. I Know Where The King Of England Is, And Shall Be
With You Before Him.' He Went On To Be More Precise, But I Omit The
Details. It Was Difficult For Them To Go Wrong, But If The Truth Is To
Be Known, He Was In A Mood Which Made Him Careless About That. He Was
Free. He Was Going On Insensate Adventure; But He Saw His Road Before
Him Once Again, Like A Long Avenue Of Light, Which Jehane Made For Him
With A Torch Uplifted. Before It Was Day, Armed From Head To Foot In
Chain Mail, With A Plain Shield, And A Double-Bladed Norman Axe In His
Saddle-Bucket, He And His Three Companions Set Out On Their Journey.
They Rode Leisurely, With Loose Reins And Much Turning In The Saddle To
Talk, As If For A Meet Of The Hounds.
Now Was That Vernal Season Of The Year When Winds Are Boon, The Gentle
Rain Never Far Off, The Stars In Heaven (Like The Flowers On Earth)
Washed Momently To A Freshness Which Urges Men To Be Pure. Riding Day
And Night Through The Green Breadth Of France, Though He Had Been
Plucked From The Roaring Pit Of War, Richard (I Know) Went With A Single
Aim Before Him--To See Jehane Again. Nothing Else In His Heart, I Say.
Whatever Purpose May Have Lurked In His Mind, In Heart He Went Clean,
Single In Desire, Chanting The Canticles Of Mary And The Virgin Saints.
It Was So. He Had Been Seethed In Wicked Doings From His Boyhood--I
Give Him You No Better Than He Was: Wild Work In Poictou, The Scour Of
Hot Blood; Devil's Work In Touraine, Riotous Work In Paris, Tyrannous In
Aquitaine. He Had Been Blown Upon By Every Ill Report; Hatred Against
Blood, Blasphemy Against God's Appointment, Violence, Clamour, Scandal
Against Charitable Dealing: All These Were Laid To His Name. He Had
Behind Him A File Of Dead Ancestors, Cut-Throats And Worse. He Had Faced
Unnameable Sin And Not Blenched, Laughed Where He Should Have Wept,
Promised And Broken His Promise; To Be Short, He Had Been A Creature Of
His House And Time, Too Young Acquainted With Pride And Too Proud
Himself To Deny It. But Now, With Eyes Alight Like A Boy's Because His
Heart Was Uplift, He Was Riding Between The New-Budded Woods, The
Melodies Of A Singing-Boy On His Lips, And Swaying Before His Heart's
Eye The Figure Of A Tall Girl With Green Eyes And A Sulky, Beautiful
Mouth. 'Lord, What Is Man?' Cried The Psalmist In Dejection. 'Lord, What
Is Man Not?' Cry We, Who Know More Of Him.
His Traverse Took Him Four Days And Nights. He Rested At La Ferté, At
Nogent-Le-Rotrou, Outside Dreux, And At Rosny. Here He Stayed A Day, The
Vigil Of The Feast Of Palms. He Had It In His Mind Not To See Jehane
Again Until The Very Moment When He Might Lose Her.
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 9 (Wild Work In The Church Of Gisors) Pg 49When In March The Chase Is Up, And The Hunting Wind Searches Out The
Fallow Places Of The Earth, Love Also Comes Questing, Desire Is Awake;
Man Seeks Maid, And Maid Seeks To Be Sought. If Man Or Maid Have Loved
Already The Case Is Worse; We Hear Love Crying, But Cannot Tell Where He
Is, How Or With What Honesty To Let Him In. All Those Ranging Days
Jehane--Whether In Bed Cuddling Her Letters, Or At The Window Of Her
Tower, Watching With Brimmed Eyes The Pairing Of The Birds--Showed A
Proud Front Of Sufferance, While Inly Her Heart Played A Wild Tune. Not
A Crying Girl, Nor One Capable Of Any Easy Utterance, She Could Do No
More Than Stand Still, And Wonder Why She Was Most Glad When Most
Wretched. She Ought To Have Felt The Taint, To Love The Man Who Had
Slain Her Brother; She Might Have Known Despair: She Did Neither. She
Sat Or Stood, Or Lay In Her Bed, And Pressed To Her Heart With Both
Hands The Words That Said, 'Never Doubt Me, Jehane,' Or 'Ma Mye, I Shall
Come To You.' When He Came, As He Surely Would, He Would Find Her A
Wife--Ah, Let Him Come, Let Him Come In His Time, So Only She Saw Him
Again!
March Went Out In Dusty Squalls, And April Came In To The Sound Of The
Young Lamb's Bleat. Willow-Palm Was Golden In The Hedges When The King
Of England's Men Filled Normandy, And Gilles De Gurdun, Having Been
Healed Of His Wounds, Rode Towards Rouen At The Head Of His Levy. He
Went Not Without An Understanding With Saint-Pol That He Should Have His
Sister On Palm Sunday In The Church Of Gisors. They Could Not Marry At
Saint-Pol-La-Marche, Because Gilles Was On His Service And Might Not Win
So Far; Nor Could They Have Married Before He Went, Because Of His
Ill-Treatment At The Hands Of The Béarnais. Of This Gilles Had Made
Light. 'He Got Worse Than He Gave,' He Told Saint-Pol. 'I Left Him Dead
In The Wood.'
'Would You See Jehane, Gilles?' Saint-Pol Had Asked Him Before He Went
Out. 'She Is In Her Turret As Meek As A Mouse.'
'Time Enough For That,' Said Gilles Quietly. 'She Loves Me Not. But I,
Eustace, Love Her So Hot That I Have Fear Of Myself. I Think I Will Not
See Her.'
'As You Will,' Said Saint-Pol. 'Farewell.'
In Gisors, Then A Walled Town, Trembling Like A Captive At The Knees Of
A Huge Castle, There Was A Long Grey Church Which Called Saint Sulpice
Lord. It Stood In A Little Square Midway Between The South Gate And The
Citadel, A Narrow Oblong Place Where They Held The Cattle Market On
Tuesdays, Flagged And Planted With Pollard-Limes. The West Door Of Saint
Sulpice, Resting On A Stepped Foundation, Formed A Solemn End To This
Humble Space, And The Great Gable Flanked By Turrets Threatened The
Huddled Tenements Of The Craftsmen. On This Morning Of Palm Sunday The
Shaven Crowns Of The Limes Were Budded Gold And Pink, The Sky A Fair
Sea-Blue Over Gisors, With A Scurrying Fleece Of Clouds Like Foam; The
Poplars About The Meadows Were In Their First Flush, All The Quicksets
Veiled In Green. The Town Was Early Afoot, For The Wedding Party Of The
Sieur De Gurdun Was To Come In; And Gurdun Belonged To The Archbishop,
And The Archbishop To The Duke. The Bride Also Was Reported Unwilling,
Which Added Zest To The Public Appetite For Her Known Beauty. Some Knew
For Truth That She Was The Cast-Off Mistress Of A Very Great Man, Driven
Into Gurdun's Arms To Dispose Of Scandal And Of Her. 'Eh, The Minion!'
Said Certain Sniggering Old Women To Whom This Was Told, 'She'll Not
Find So Soft A Lap At Gurdun!' But Others Said, 'Gurdun Is The Duke's,
And Will One Day Be The Duke's Son's. What Will Sieur Gilles Do Then
With His Straining Wife? You Cannot Keep Your Hawk On The Cadge For
Ever--Ah, Nor Hood Her For Ever!' And So On.
Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 9 (Wild Work In The Church Of Gisors) Pg 50
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