The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91, Maurice Hewlett [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Maurice Hewlett
Book online «The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91, Maurice Hewlett [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗». Author Maurice Hewlett
The Hills Of Languedoc, Of Henry His Handsome Brother, Of Bertran De
Born And The Falcon At Le Puy. Then Followed A Pleasant Thing. Saladin,
The Noble Foe, Heard Of It, And Sent Saphadin His Brother To Visit Him.
They Brought The Great Emir Into The Tent Of His Great Enemy.
'O God Of The Christians!' Cried He With Tears, 'What Is This Work Of
Thine, To Make Such A Mirror Of Thy Might, And Then To Shatter The
Glass?' He Kissed King Richard's Burning Forehead, Then Stood Facing The
Standers-By.
'I Tell You, My Lords, There Has Been No Such King As This In Our
Country. My Brother The Sultan Would Rather Lose Jerusalem Than Have
Such A Man To Die.'
At This Richard Opened His Eyes. 'Eh, Saphadin, My Friend,' He Says,
'Death Is Not Mine Yet, Nor Jerusalem Either. Make Me A Truce With My
Brother Saladin For Three Years. Then With The Grace Of God I Will Come
And Fight Him Again. But For This Time I Am Spent.'
'Are You Wounded, Dear Sire?' Asked Saphadin.
'Wounded?' Said The King In A Whisper. 'Yes, Wounded In The Soul, And In
The Heart--Sick, Sick, Sick.'
Saphadin, Kneeling Down, Kissed His Ring. 'May The God Whom In Secret We
Both Worship, The God Of Gods, Do Well By You, My Brother.' So He Said,
And Richard Nodded And Smiled At Him Kindly.
When Peace Was Made They Carried Him To His Ship. The Fleet Went To
Acre.
Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 10 (The Chapter Called Bonds) Pg 160
King Richard Sent For His Sister Joan Of Sicily On The Morrow Of His
Coming To Acre, And Thus Addressed Her: 'Let Me Hear Now, Sister, The
Truth Of What Passed When The Queen Saw Madame D'anjou.'
'Madame D'anjou!' Cried Joan, Who (As You Know) Had Plenty Of Spirit; 'I
Think You Rob The Queen Of A Title There.'
'I Cannot Rob Her Of What She Never Had,' Said King Richard; 'But I Will
Repeat My Question If You Do Not Remember It.'
'No Need, Sire,' Replied The Lady, And Told Him All She Knew. She Added,
'Sire And My Brother, If I May Dare To Say So, I Think The Queen Has A
Grief. Madame Jehane Made No Pretensions--I Hope I Do Her Full
Justice--But Remember That The Queen Made None Either. You Took Her Of
Your Royal Will; She Was Conscious Of The Honour. But Of What You Gave
You Took Away More Than Half. The Queen Loves You, Richard; She Is A
Most Miserable Lady, Yet There Is Time Still. Make A Wife Of Your Queen,
Brother Richard, And All Will Be Well. For What Other Reason In The
World Did Madame Jehane What She Did? For Love Of An Old Man Whom She
Had Never Seen, Do You Think?'
The King's Brow Grew Dark Red. He Spoke Deliberately. 'I Will Never Make
Her My Wife. I Will Never Willingly See Her Again. I Should Sin Against
Religion Or Honour If I Did Either. I Will Never Do That. Let Her Go To
Her Own Country.'
'Sire, Sire,' Said Joan, 'How Is She To Do That?'
'As She Will,' Says The King; 'But, For My Part Of It, With Every Proper
Accompaniment.'
'Sire, The Dowry--'
'I Return It, Every Groat.'
'The Affront--'
'The Affront Is Offered. I Prevent A Greater Affront.'
'Is This Fixed, Richard?'
'Irrevocably.'
'She Loves You, Sire!'
'She Loves Ill. Get Up On Your Feet.'
'Sire, I Beseech You Pity Her.'
'I Pity Her Deeply. I Think I Pity Everybody With Whom I Have Had To
Deal. I Do Not Choose To Have Any More Pitiful Persons About Me. Fare
You Well, Sister. Go, Lest I Pity You.' She Pleaded.
Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 10 (The Chapter Called Bonds) Pg 161'Ah, Sire!'
'The Audience Is At An End,' Said The King; And The Queen Of Sicily Rose
To Take Leave.
He Kept His Word, Never Saw Berengère Again But Once, And That Was Not
Yet. What Remained For Him To Do In Syria He Did, Patched Up A Truce
With Saladin, Saw To Henry Of Champagne's Election, To Guy Of Lusignan's
Establishment; Dealt Out Such Rewards And Punishments As Lay In His
Power, Sent The Two Queens With A Convoy To Marseilles. Then, Two Years
From His Hopeful Entry Into Acre As A Conqueror, He Left It A Defeated
Man. He Had Won Every Battle He Had Fought And Taken Every City He Had
Invested. His Allies Had Beaten Him, Not The Heathen.
They Were To Beat Him Again, With Help. The Very Skies Took Their Part.
He Was Beset By Storms From The Day He Launched On The Deep, Separated
From His Convoy, Driven From One Shore To Another, Fatally Delayed. His
Enemies Had Time To Gather At Home: Eustace Of Saint-Pol, Beauvais,
Philip Of France; And Behind All These Was John Of Mortain, Moving
Heaven And Earth And Them To Get Him A Realm. By A Providence, As He
Thought It, Richard Put Into Corsica Under Stress Of Weather, And There
Heard How The Land Lay In Gaul. Philip Had Won Over Raymond Of Toulouse,
Saint-Pol Heading A Joint-Army Of Theirs Was Near Marseilles, Ready To
Destroy Him. King Richard Was To Walk Into A Trap. By This Time, You
Must Know, He Had No More To His Power Than The Galley He Rode In, And
Three Others. He Had No Des Barres, No Gaston, No Béziers; He Had Not
Even Mercadet His Captain, And No Thought Where They Might Be. The Trap
Would Have Caught Him Fast.
'Pretty Work,' He Said, 'Pretty Work. But I Will Better It.' He Put
About, And Steered Round Sicily For The Coast Of Dalmatia; Here Was
Caught Again By Furious Gales, Lost Three Ships Out Of The Four He Had,
And Finally Sought Haven At Gazara, A Little Fishing Village On That
Empty Shore. His Intention Was To Travel Home By Way Of Germany And The
Low Countries, And So Land In England While His Brother John Was Still
In France. Either He Had Forgotten, Or Did Not Care To Remember, That
All This Country Was A Fief Of The Archduke Luitpold's. He Knew, Of
Course, That Luitpold Hated Him, But Not That He Held Him Guilty Of
Montferrat's Murder. Suspecting No Great Difficulty, He Sent Up
Messengers To The Lord Of Gazara For A Safe-Conduct For Certain
Merchants, Pilgrims. This Man Was An Austrian Knight Called Gunther.
'Who Are Your Pilgrims?' Gunther Asked; And Was Told, Master Hugh, A
Merchant Of Alost, He And His Servants.
'What Manner Of A Merchant?' Was Gunther's Next Question.
'My Lord,' They Said, Who Had Seen Him, 'A Fine Man, Tall As A Tree, And
Strong And Straight, Having Keen Blue Eyes, And A Reddish Beard On His
Chin, As The Men Of Flanders Do Not Use.'
Gunther Said, 'Let Me See This Merchant,' And Went Down To The Inn Where
King Richard Was.
Now Richard Was Sitting By The Fire, Warming Himself. When Gunther Came
In, Furred And Portly, He Did Not Rise Up; Which Was Unfortunate In A
Pretended Merchant.
'Are You Master Hugh Of Alost?' Gunther Asked, Looking Him Over.
'That Is The Name I Bear,' Said Richard. 'And Who Are You, My Friend?'
Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 10 (The Chapter Called Bonds) Pg 162The Austrian Stammered. 'Hey, Thou Dear God, I Am Lord Gunther Of This
Castle And Town!' He Said, Raising His Voice. Then The King Got Up To
Make A Reverence, And In So Doing Betrayed His Stature.
'I Should Have Guessed It, Sir, By Your Gentleness In Coming To Visit Me
Here. I Ask Your Pardon.' Thus The King, While Gunther Wondered.
'You Are A Very Tall Merchant, Hugh,' Says He. 'Do They Make Your Sort
In Alost?' King Richard Laughed.
'It Is The Only Advantage I Have Of Your Lordship. For The Rest, My
Countrywomen Make Straight Men, I Think.'
'Were You Bred In Alost, Master Hugh?' Asked Gunther Suspiciously; And
Again Richard Laughed As He Said, 'Ah, You Must Ask My Mother, Lord
Gunther.'
'Lightning!' Was The Austrian's Thought; 'Here Is A Pretty Easy
Merchant.'
He Raised Some Little Difficulties, Vexations Of Routine, Which King
Richard Persistently Laughed At, While Doing His Best To Fulfil Them.
Gunther Did Not Relish This. He Named The Archduke As His Overlord, Hard
Upon Strangers. Richard Let It Slip That He Did Not Greatly Esteem The
Archduke. However, In The End He Got His Safe-Conduct, And All Would
Have Been Well If, On Leaving Gazara, He Had Not Overpaid The Bill.
Overpay Is Not The Word: He Drowned The Bill. In A Hurry For The Road,
The Innkeeper Fretted Him. 'Reckoning, Landlord!' He Cried, With One
Foot In The Stirrup: 'How The Devil Am I To Reckon Half-Way Up A Horse?
Here, Reckon Yourself, My Man, And Content You With These.' He Threw A
Fistful Of Gold Besants On The Flags, Turned His Horse Sharply And
Cantered Out Of The Yard. 'Colossal Man!' Gasped The Innkeeper. 'King Or
Devil, But No Merchant Under The Sun.' So The News Spread Abroad, And
Gunther Puffed His Cheeks Over It. A Six-Foot-Two Man, A Monstrous
Leisurely Merchant, Who Rose Not To The Lord Of A Castle And Town, Who
Did Not Wait For His Lordship's Humour, But Found Laughable Matter In
His Own; Who Was Taller Than The Archduke And Thought His Grace A Dull
Dog; Who Made A Danaë Of His Landlord! Was This Man Jove? Who Could
Think The Archduke A Dull Dog Except An Emperor, Or, Perhaps, A Great
King? A King: Stay Now. There Were Wandering Kings Abroad. How If
Richard Of England Had Lost His Way? Here He Slapped His Thigh: But This
Must Be Richard Of England--What Other King Was So Tall? And In That
Case, O Thunder In The Sky, He Had Let Slip His Archduke's Deadly Enemy!
He Howled For His Lanzknechts, His Boots, Helmet, Great Sword; He Set
Off At Once, And Riding By Forest Ways, Cut Off The Merchant In A Day
And A Night. He Ran Him To Earth In The Small Wooden Inn Of A Small
Wooden Village High Up In The Carinthian Alps, Blomau By Name, Which
Lies In A Forest Clearing On The Road To Gratz.
King Richard Was Drinking Sour Beer In The Kitchen, And Not Liking It.
The Lanzknechts Surrounded The House; Gunther With Two Of Them Behind
Him Came Clattering In. Glad Of The Diversion, Richard Looked Up.
'Ha,
Comments (0)