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

To Her Room, To Discuss His Affairs. He Never

Found Her Out Of Humour, Dull, Perverse, Or Otherwise Than Well-Disposed

To All His Desires. Far From That, Every Friday He Gave Thanks In The

Mosque For The Gift Of Such An Admirable Wife--Grave, Discreet, Pious,

Amorous, Chaste, Obedient, Nimble, Complaisant, And Most Beautiful, As

He Hereby Declared That He Found Her. Being A Man Of The Greatest

Possible Experience, This Was High Praise; Nor Had He Been Slow In

Making Up His Mind That She Was To Be Trusted. He Was About To Prove His

Deed As Good As His Opinion.

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Word Was Brought Her On A Day, As She Sat In The Harem With Her Boy On

Her Knee, Singing To Herself And Him Some Winding Song Of France, That

This Redoubtable Lord Of Hers Was Waiting To See Her In Her Chamber. She

Put The Child Down And Followed The Eunuch. Entering The Room Where The

Old Man Sat, She Knelt Down, As Was Customary, And Kissed His Knee. He

Touched Her Bent Head. 'Rise Up, My Child,' Says He, 'Sit With Me For A

Little. I Have Matters Of Concernment For You.' She Sat At Once By His

Side; He Took Her Hand And Began To Talk To Her In This Manner.

 

'It Appears, Jehane, That I Am Something Of A Prophet. Your Late Master,

The Melek Richard, Has Fallen Into The Power Of His Enemies; He Is Now A

Prisoner Of The Archduke's On Many Charges: First, The Killing Of Your

Brother Eudo, Count Of Saint-Pol; But That Is A Very Trifling Affair,

Which Occurred, Moreover, In Fair Battle. Next, They Accuse

Him--Falsely, As You Know--Of The Death Of Montferrat. We May Have Our

Own Opinion About That. But The Prime Matter, As I Guess, Is Ransom, And

Whether Those Who Wish Him Ill (Not For What He Has Done To Them, But

For What He Has Not Allowed Them To Do To Him) Will Suffer Him To Be

Ransomed. Now, What Have You To Say, My Child? I See That It Affects

You.'

 

Jehane Was Affected, But Not As You Might Expect. With Great

Self-Possession She Had A Very Practical Mind. There Were Neither Tears

Nor Heart-Beatings, Neither Panic Nor Flying Of Colours. Her Eyes Sought

The Old Man's And Remained Steadily On Them; Her Lips Were Firm And Red.

 

'What Are You Willing To Do, Sire?' She Asked Him. Sinan Stroked His

Fine Beard.

 

'I Can Dispose Of The Business Of Montferrat In A Few Lines,' He Said,

Considering. 'More, I Can Reach The Melek And Assure Him Of Comfort.

What I Cannot Do So Easily, Though I Admit No Failure, Mind, Is To

Induce His Enemies At Home To Allow Of A Ransom.'

 

'I Can Do That,' Said Jehane, 'If You Will Do The Rest.' The Old Man

Patted Her Cheek.

 

'It Is Not The Custom Of My Nation To Allow Wives Abroad. You, Moreover,

Are Not Of That Nation. How Can I Trust The Melek, Who (I Know) Loves

You? How Can I Trust You, Who (I Know) Love The Melek?'

 

'Oh, Sire,' Says Jehane, Looking Him Full In The Face, 'I Came Here

Because I Loved My Lord Richard; And When I Have Assured His Safety I

Shall Return Here.' She Looked Down, As She Added--'For The Same

Reason, And For No Other.'

 

'I Quite Understand You, Child,' Said The Old Man, And Put His Hand

Under Her Chin. This Made Her Blush, And Brought Up Her Face Again

Quickly.

 

'Dear Sire,' She Said Shyly, 'You Are Very Kind To Me. If I Had Another

Reason For Returning It Would Be That.' Sinan Kissed Her.

 

'And So It Shall Be, My Dear,' He Assured Her. 'There Is Time Enough.

You Shall Certainly Go, Due Regard Being Had To My Dignity, And Your

Health, Which Is Delicate Just Now.'

 

'Have No Fear For Me, My Lord,' She Said. 'I Am Very Strong.' He Kissed

Her Again, Saying, 'I Have Never Known A Woman At Once So Beautiful And

So Strong.'

 

He Wrote Two Letters, Sealing Them With His Own Signet And That Of King

Solomon. To The Archduke He Said Curtly--

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'To The Archduke Luitpold, _Vetus De Monte_ Sends Greeting. If The Melek

Richard Be Any Way Let In The Matter Of His Life And Renown, I Bid You

Take Heed That As I Served The Marquess Of Montferrat, So Also I Shall

Serve Your Serenity.'

 

But The Emperor Demanded More Civil Advertisement: He Got A Remarkably

Fine Letter.

 

'To The Most Exalted Man, Henry, By The Grace Of God Emperor Of The

Romans, Happy, Pious, Ever August, The Invincible Conqueror, _Vetus De

Monte_, By The Same Great Chief Of The Assassins, Sends Greeting With

The Kiss Of Peace. Let Your Celsitude Make Certain Acquaintance With

Error In Regard To The Most Illustrious Person Whom You Have In Hold.

Not That Melek Richard Caused The Death Of The Marquess Conrad; But I,

The Ancient, The Lord Of Assassins, Fulness Of Light, For Good Cause,

Namely To Save My Friend The Same Melek From Injurious Death At The

Hands Of The Marquess. And Him, The Said Melek, I Am Resolved At All

Hazards To Defend By Means Of The Silent Smiters Who Serve Me. So

Farewell; And May He Protect Your Celsitude Whom We Diversely Worship.'

 

As With Every Business Of The Old Man's, Preparations Were Soon And

Silently Made. In Three Or Four Days' Time Jehane Strained The Young

Fulke To Her Bosom, Took Affectionate Humble Leave Of Her Master, And

Left The Green Valley Of Lebanon On Her Embassy.

 

She Was Sent Down To The Coast In The Manner Becoming The Estate Of A

Sultan's Favourite Wife. She Never Set Foot On The Ground, Never Even

Saw It. She Was In A Close-Curtained Litter, Herself Veiled To The Eyes.

Sitting With Her Was A Vast Old Turkish Woman, Whom In The Harem They

Called The Mother Of Flowers. Mules Bore The Litter, Eunuchs On Mules

Surrounded It. On All Sides, A Third Line Of Defence, Rode The

Janissaries, Hooded In White, On White Arabian Horses. So They Came

Swiftly To Tortosa, Whose Lord, In Strict Alliance With Him Of Musse,

Little Knew That In Paying Homage To The Shrouded Cage He Was

Cap-In-Hand To Jehane Of Picardy. Long Galleys Took Up The Burden Of The

Mountain Roads, Dipped And Furrowed Across The Ægean, And Touched Land

At Salonika. Hence By Relays Of Bearers Jehane Was Carried Darkly To

Marburg In Styria, Where At Last She Saw The Face Of The Sky.

 

They Took Her To The Inn And Unveiled Her. Then The Chief Of The Eunuchs

Handed Her A Paper Which He Had Written Himself, Being Deprived Of A

Tongue:--'Madame, Fragrance Of The Harem, Gulzareen (Which Is To Say,

Golden Rose), Thus I Am Commanded By My Dreadful Master. From This Hour

And Place You Are Free To Do What Seems Best To Your Wisdom. The Letters

Of Our Lord Will Be Sent Forward By The Proper Bearers Of Them, One To

Gratz, Where The Archduke Watches The Melek, And One To The Emperor Of

The Romans, Wherever He May Be Found. In Gratz Is He Whom You Seek. This

Day Six Months I Shall Be Here To Attend Your Sufficiency.' He Bowed

Three Times, And Went Away.

 

'Now, Mother,' Said Jehane To The Old Duenna, 'Do For Me What I Bid You,

And Quickly. Get Me Brown Juice For My Skin, And A Ragged Kirtle And

Bodice, Such As The Egyptians Wear. Give Me Money To Line It, And Then

Let Me Go.' All This Was Done. Jehane Put On Vile Raiment Which Barely

Covered Her, Stained Her Fair Face, Neck, And Arms Brown, And Let Her

Hair Droop All About Her. Then She Went Barefoot Out, Hugging Herself

Against The Cold, Being Three Months Gone With Child, And Took The Road

Over Barren Moorland To Gratz.

 

She Had Not Seen King Richard For Nearly Two Years, At The Thought Of

Which Thing And Of Him The Hot Blood Leapt Up, To Thrust And Tingle In

Her Face. She Did Not Mean To See Him Now If She Could Help It, For She

Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 11 (The Chapter Called A Latere) Pg 169

Knew Just How Far She Could Withstand Him; She Would Save Him And Then

Go Back. Thus She Reasoned With Herself As She Trudged: 'Jehane, Ma Mye,

Thou Art Wife Now To A Wise Old Man, Who Is Good To Thee, And Has

Exalted Thee Above All His Women. Thou Must Have No Lovers Now. Only

Save Him, Save Him, Save Him, Lord Jesus, Lady Mary!' She Treated This

As A Prayer, And Kept It Very Near Her Lips All The Way To Gratz, Except

When She Felt Herself Flush All Over With The Thought, 'School Of God!

Is So Great A King To Be Prayed For, As If He Were A Sick Monk?'

Nevertheless, She Prayed More Than She Flushed. Nothing Disturbed Her;

She Slept In Woods, In Byres, In Stackyards; Bought What She Needed For

Food, Attracted No Attention, And Got No Annoyance Worthy The Name. At

The Closing In Of The Fifth Day She Saw The Walls Of The City Rise Above

The Black Moors Into The Sky, And The Towers Above Them. The Dome Of A

Church, Gilded, Caught The Dying Sun's Eye; Its Towers Were Monstrous

Tall, Round, And Peaked With Caps Of Green Copper. On The Walls She

Counted Seven Other Towers, Heavy, Squat, Flat-Roofed Fortresses With

Huge Battlements. A Great Flag Hung In Folds, Motionless About A Staff.

All Was A Uniform Dun, Muffled In Stormy Sky, Lowering, Remote From

Knowledge, And Alien.

 

But Jehane Herself Was Of The North, And Not Impressionable. Grey Skies

Were Familiar Tents To Her, Moorlands Roomy Places, One Heap Of Stones

Much Like Another. But Her Heart Beat High To Know Richard Half A League

Away; All Her Trouble Was How She Should Find Him In Such A Great Town.

It Was Dusk When She Reached It; They Were About To Shut The Gates. She

Let Them, Having Seen That There Were Booths And Hovels At The

Barriers, Even A Little Church. It Was There She Spent The Night,

Huddled In A Corner By The Altar.

 

Dawn Is A Laggard In Styria. She