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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Shake Of The Head, As If Doing Violence To Himself, He Turned His Face
Westward And Pushed Through The Low Countries To The Sea. There He Was
Met By His English Peers, By Longchamp, By His Brother Of Rouen, By Men
Who Loved And Men Who Feared; But He Had No Word For Any. Grim And
Hungry He Stalked Through The Lane They Made Him, On To The Galley;
Folded In His Cloak There, Lonely He Paced The Bridge. He Was Rowed To
The West With His Eyes Fixed Always On The East, Away From His Kingdom
To Where He Supposed His Longing To Be. His Mother Met Him At Dunwich:
It Seemed He Knew Her Not. 'My Son, My Son Richard,' She Said As She
Knelt To Him. 'Get Up, Madame,' He Bid Her; 'I Have Work To Do.' He Rode
Savagely To London Through The Grey Essex Flats; Had Himself Crowned
Anew; Went North With A Force To Lay Lincolnshire Waste; Levelled
Castles, Exacted Relentless Punishment, Exorbitant Tribute, The Last
Acquittance. He Set A Red Smudge Over The Middle Of England, Being
Altogether In That Country Three Months, A Total To His Name And Reign
Of A Poor Six. Then He Left It For Good And All, Carrying Away With Him
Grudging Men And Grudged Money, And Leaving Behind The Memory Of A Stone
Face Which Always Looked East, A Sword, A Heart Aloof, The Myth Of A
Giant Knight Who Spoke No English And Did No Charity, But Was Without
Fear, Cruelly Just, And As Cold As An Outland Grave. If You Ask An
Englishman What He Thinks Of Richard Yea-And-Nay, He Will Tell
You:--That Was A King Without Pity Or Fear Or Love, Considering Neither
God, Nor The Enemy Of God, Nor Unhappy Men. If The Fear Of God Is The
Beginning Of Wisdom, The Love Of Him Is The End Of It. How Could King
Richard Love God, Who Did Not Fear Enough; Or We, Who Feared Too Much?
He Crossed Into Normandy, And At Honfleur Was Met By Them Who Loved Him
Well; But He Repaid Them Ill. Here Also They Seemed Remote From His
Acquaintance. Gaston Of Béarn, With Eyes Alight, Came Dancing Down The
Quay, To Be The First To Kiss Him. Richard, Shaking With Fever (Or What
Was Like Fever), Gave Him A Burning Dry Hand, But Looked Away From Him,
Always Hungrily To The East. Des Barres, Who Had Thrown Off Allegiance
For His Love, Got No Thanks For It. He May Have Known Abbot Milo Again,
Or Mercadet, His Lean Good Captain: He Said Nothing To Either Of Them.
His Friends Were Confounded: Here Was The Gallant Shell Of King Richard
With A New Insatiable Tenant. So Indeed They Found It. There Was Great
Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 14 (How The Leopard Was Loosed) Pg 184Business To Be Done: War, The Holding Of Assise, The Redressing Of
Wrongs From The Sea To The Pyrenees. He Did It, But In A Terrible, Hasty
Way. It Appeared That Every Formal Act Required Fretted Him To Waste,
That Every Violent Act Allowed Gave Him Little Solace. It Appeared That
He Was Living Desperately Fast, Straining To Fill Up Time, Rather Than
Use It, Towards Some Unknown, But (To Him) Certain End. His First Act In
Normandy, After New Coronation, Was To Besiege The Border Castles Which
The French Had Filched In His Absence. One Of These Was Gisors. He
Would Not Go Near Gisors; But Conducted The Leaguer From Rouen, As A
Blindfold Man Plays Chess; And From Rouen He Reduced The Great Castle In
Six Weeks. One Thing More He Did There, Which Gave Gaston A Clue To His
Mood. He Sent A Present Of Money, A Great Sum, To An Old Priest, Curate
Of Saint-Sulpice; And When They Told Him That The Man Was Dead, And A
Great Part Of The Church He Had Served Burnt Out By King Philip, His
Face Grew Bleak And Withered, And He Said, 'Then I Will Burn Philip
Out.' He Had Gisors, Castle, Churches, Burgher-Holds, The Whole Town,
Burned Level With The Ground. There Was Not To Be A Stone On A Stone:
And It Was So. Gaston Of Béarn Slapped His Thigh When He Heard Of This:
'Now,' He Said, 'Now At Last I Know What Ails My King. He Has Seen His
Lost Mistress.'
He Did So Ruthlessly In Normandy That He Went Far To Make His Power A
Standing Dread To The Fair Duchy. On The Rock At Les Andelys He Built A
Huge Castle, To Hang There Like A Thunder-Cloud Scowling Over The Flats
Of The Seine. He Called It, What His Temper Gave No Hint Of (So Dry With
Fever He Was), The Galliard Hold. 'Let Me See Chastel-Gaillard Stand
Ready In A Year,' He Said. 'Put On Every Living Man In Normandy If Need
Be.' He Planned It All Himself; Rock Of The Rock It Was To Be, Making
The Sheer Yet More Sheer. He Called It Again His Daughter, Daughter Of
His Conception Of Death. 'Build,' Said He, 'My Daughter Gaillarda. As I
Have Conceived Her Let The Great Birth Be.' And It Was So. For A Bitter
Christening, When All Was Done, He Had His French Prisoners Thrown Down
Into The Fosse; And They Say That It Rained Blood Upon Him And His
Artificers As They Stood By That Accursed Font. The Man Was Mad. Nothing
Stayed Him: For The First Time Since They Who Still Loved Him Had Had
Him Back, They Heard Him Laugh, When His Daughter Gaillarda Was Brought
Forth. And, 'Spine Of God,' He Cried, 'This Is A Saucy Child Of Mine,
And Saucily Shall She Do By The French Power.' Then His Face Was
Wrenched By Pain, As With A Sob He Said, 'I Had A Son Fulke.' Gaillarda
Did Saucily Enough, To Tyrannise Over Ten Years Of Philip's Life; In The
End, As All Know, She Played The Strumpet, And Served The Enemies Of Her
Father's House, But Not While Richard Lived To Rule Her.
He Drove Philip Into A Truce Of Years, Pushed Down Into Touraine, And
Thence Went To Anjou, But Not To Sit Still. He Was Never Still, Never
Seemed To Sleep, Or Get Any Of The Solace Of A Man. He Ate Voraciously,
But Was Not Nourished, Drank Long, But Was Never Drunken, Revelled
Without Mirth, Hunted, Fought, But Got No Joy. He Utterly Refused To See
The Queen, Who Was At Cahors In The South. 'She Is No Wife Of Mine,' He
Said; 'Let Her Go Home.' Tentative Messages Were Brought By Very
Tentative Messengers From His Brother John. Good Service, Such And Such,
Had Been Done In Languedoc; So And So Had Been Hanged, Or Gibbeted, So
And So Rewarded: What Had Our Dear And Royal Brother To Say? To Each He
Said The Same Thing: 'Let My Good Brother Come.' But John Never Came.
No One Knew What To Make Of Him; He Spoke To None Of His Affairs, None
Dared Speak To Him. Milo Writes In His Book, 'The King Came Back From
Styria As One Who Should Arise From The Grave With All The Secrets Of
The Chattering Ghosts To Brood Upon. Some Worm Gnawed His Vitals, Some
Maggot Had Drilled A Hole In His Brain. I Know Not What Possessed Him Or
What Could Possess Him Beside A Devil. This I Know, He Never Sent To Me
For Direction In Spiritual Affairs, Nor (So Far As I Could Learn) To Any
Other Religious Man. He Never Took The Sacrament, Nor Seemed To Want It.
Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 14 (How The Leopard Was Loosed) Pg 185But Be Sure He Wanted It Most Grievously.' So, Insanely Ridden, He Lived
For Three Years, One Of Which Would Have Worn A Common Man To The Bones.
But The Fire Still Crackled, Freely Fed; His Eyes Were Burning Bright,
His Mind (When He Gave It) Was Keen, His Head (When He Lent It) Seemed
Cool. What Was He Living For? Did Death Himself Look Askance At Such A
Man? Or Find Him A Good Customer Who Sent Him So Many Souls? Two Things
Only Were Clear: He Sent Messenger After Messenger To Rome, And He
Returned His Wife's Dowry. Those Must Mean Divorce Or Repudiation Of
Marriage. Certainly The Queen's Party Took It So, Though The Queen
Herself Clung Pitifully To Her Throne; And The Queen's Party Grew The
Larger For The Belief.
Such As It Was, The Queen's Party Nested In Aquitaine And The Limousin,
With All The Turbulent Lords Of That Duchy Under Its Flag. Prince John
Himself Was With Berengère At Cahors, Biting His Nails As Was Usual With
Him, One Eye Watching For Richard's Vengeance, One Eye Wide For Any
Peace-Offering From The French King. He Dared Not Act Overtly Against
Richard, Nor Dared To Take Up Arms For Him. So He Waited. The End Was
Not Very Far Off.
Count Eustace Of Saint-Pol Was The Moving Spirit In These Parts, Grown
To Be An Astute, Unscrupulous Man Of Near Thirty Years. His Spies Kept
Him Well Informed Of Richard's Intolerable State; He Knew Of The
Embassies To Rome, Of The Fierce Murdering Moods, Of The Black Moods, Of
The Cheerless Revelry And Fruitless Energy Of This Great Stricken
Angevin. 'In Some Such Hag-Ridden Day My Enemy May Be Led To Overtax
Himself,' He Considered. To That End He Laid A Trap. He Seized And
Fortified Two Hill-Castles In The Limousin, Between Which Lay Straggling
A Village Called Chaluz. 'Let Us Get Richard Down Here,' Was His Plan.
'He Will Think The Job A Light One, And We Shall Nip Him In The Hills.'
The Bishop Of Beauvais Lent A Hand, So Did Adhémar Viscount Of Limoges,
And Achard The Lord Of Chaluz, Not Because He Desired, But Because He
Was Forced By Limoges His Suzerain. Another Forced Labourer Was Sir
Gilles De Gurdun, Who Had Been Found By Saint-Pol Doing Work In Poictou
And Won Over After A Few Trials.
Now, When King Richard Had Been Some Four, Nearly Five, Years At Home,
Neither Nearer To His Rest Nor Fitter For It Than He Had Been When He
Landed, He Got Word From The South That A Great Treasure Had Been Found
In The Limousin. A Man Driving The Plough On A Hillside By Chaluz Had
Upturned A Gold Table, At Which Sat An Emperor, Charles Or Another, With
His Wife And Children And The Lords Of His Council, All Wrought In Fine
Gold. 'I Will Have That Golden Emperor,' Said Richard, 'Having Just Made
One Out Of Clay. Let Him Be Sent To Me.' He Spoke Carelessly, As They
All Thought, Simply To Get In His Gibe At The New Emperor Of The Romans,
His Nephew, Whom He Had Caused To Be Chosen; And Seeing That That Was
Not The Treasure He Craved, It Is Like Enough. But Somebody Took His
Word Into Languedoc, And Somebody Brought Back Word (Saint-Pol's Word)
That The Viscount Of Limoges, As Suzerain Of Chaluz, Claimed
Treasure-Trove In It. 'Then I Will Have The Viscount Of Limoges As
Well,' Said Richard. 'Let Him Be Sent To Me, And The Table With Him.'
The Viscount
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