The Life And Death Of Richard Yea And Nay Volume 91 by Maurice Hewlett (free books to read .txt) 📕

Count Of Saint-Pol. Little Matter That This Was Untrue, The Bringing

In Of His Name Set Wild Alarums Clanging In Richard's Head. It Was Only

Too Likely To Have Been Saint-Pol's Doing; There Was Obvious Reason; But

By The Same Token Saint-Pol Might Be A Liar. He Saw That He Must By All

Means Find Saint-Pol, And Find Him At Once. He Began To Shout For

Gaston. 'To Horse, To Horse, Gaston!' The Court Rang With His Voice; To

The Clamour He Made, Which Might Betoken Murder, Arson, Pillage, Or The

Sin Against The Holy Ghost, Out Came The Vassals In A Swarm. 'To Horse,

To Horse, Béarnais! Where Out Of Hell Is Gaston Of Béarn?' The Devil Of

Anjou Was Loose In Autafort That Day.

 

Gaston Came Delicately Last, Drawing His Beard Through His Fist, To See

Bertran De Born Lie Helpless In A Lemon-Bush Hard By The Wall. Richard,

Quite Beyond Himself, Exploded With His Story, And So Was Sobered. While

Gaston Made His Comments, He, Instead Of Listening, Made Comments Of His

Own.

 

'Dear Lord Richard,' Said Gaston Reasonably, 'If You Do Not Know Bertran

By This Time It Is A Strange Thing And A Pitiful Thing. For It Shows You

Without Any Wit. He Was Appointed, It Would Seem, To Be The Thorn In

Your Rosebed Of Anjou. What Has He Done Since He Was Let Be Made But

Set You All By The Ears? What Did He Do By The Young King But

Miserably? What By Geoffrey? Is There A Man In The World He Hates More

Than The Old King? Yes, There Is One: You. Take A Token. The Last Time

They Two Met Was In This Very Castle; And Then The King Your Father

Kissed Him, And Forgiving Him Henry's Death, Gave Him Back His Autafort;

And Bertran Too Gave A Kiss, That Love Might Abound. Judas, Judas! And

What Did Judas Next? Dear Richard, Let Us Think Awhile, But Not Here.

Let Us Go To Limoges And Think With The Viscount. But Let Us By All

Means Kill Bertran De Born First.'

 

During This Speech, Which Had Much To Recommend It, Richard, As I Have

Told You, Did His Thinking By Himself. He Always Cooled As Suddenly As

He Boiled Over; And Now, Warily Regarding The Right Hand And The Left Of

This Monstrous Fable, He Saw That, Though Saint-Pol Might Have Played

Fox In It, Another Must Have Played Goat. He Could Not Fail To Remember

Louviers, And Certain Horrid Mysteries Which Had Offended Him Then With

Only Vague Disgust, As For Matters Which Were Outside His Own Care. Now

They All Took Shape Satyric, Like Hideous Heads Thrust Out Of The Dark

To Loll Their Tongues At Him. To The Shock Of His First Dismay Succeeded

The Onset Of Rage, White And Cold And Deadly As A Night Frost. Eh, But

He Would Meet His Teeth In Some Throat! But He Would Go Slowly To Work,

Clear The Ground And Stalk His Prey. The Leopard Devises Creeping Death.

He Made Up His Mind. Gaston He Sent To The South, To Angoulesme, To

Périgord, To Auvergne, To Cahors. The Horn Must Be Heard At The Head Of

Every Brown Valley, The Armed Men Shadow Every White Road. He Himself

Went To His City Of Poietiers.

 

Bertran De Born Saw Him Go, And Rubbed His Hair Till It Stood Like Reeds

Shaken By The Wind. Whether He Loved Mischief Or Not (And Some Say He

Breathed It); Whether He Had A Grudge Against Anjou Not Yet Assuaged;

Whether He Was In League With Prince John, Or Had Indeed Thought To Do

Prince Richard A Service, Let Philosophers, Experts Of Mankind,

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 5 (How Bertran De Born And Count Richard Strove In A Tenzon) Pg 33

Determine. If He Had A Turn For Dramatics He Had Certainly Indulged It

Now, And Given Himself Strong Meat For A New Sirvente Of Kings. At Least

He Was Very Busy After Richard's Departure, Himself Preparing For A Long

Journey To The South.

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 6 (Fruits Of The Tenzon The Back Of Saint Pol And The Front Of Montferrat) Pg 34

Count Richard Found Time, While He Was At Poietiers Awaiting The

Aquitanian Levies, To Write Six Letters To Jehane Saint-Pol. Of These

Some, With Their Bearers, Fell By The Wayside. As Luck Would Have It,

Jehane Received But Two, The First And The Last. The First Said: 'I Am

In The Way Of Liberty, But By A Red Road. Have Hopes Of Me.' Jehane Was

Long In Answering. One May Picture The Poor Soul Taking The Dear And

Wicked Thing Into The Little Chapel, Laying It On The Altar-Stone Warm

From Her Vest, Restoring It After Office Done To That Haven Whence She

Must Banish Its Writer. Fortified, She Replied With, 'Alas, My Lord, The

Way Of Liberty Leads Not To Me; Nor Can I Serve You Otherwise Than In

Bonds. I Pray You, Make My Yoke No Heavier.--Your Servant, In Little

Ease, Jehane.' This Wistful Unhappy Letter Gave Him Heartache; He Could

Scarcely Keep Himself At Home. Yet He Must, Being As Yet Sure Of

Nothing. He Replied In A Second And Third, A Fourth And A Fifth Letter,

Which Never Reached Her. The Last Was Sent When He Had Begun What He

Thought Fit To Do At Tours, Saying, 'I Make War, But The Cause Is

Righteous. Never Misjudge Me, Jehane.' There Were Many Reasons Why She

Should Not Answer This.

 

Returning To His Deeds At Poietiers, I Pick Up The Story From The Abbot

Milo, Whom He Found There. The Count, You May Judge, Kept His Own

Counsel. Milo Was His Confessor, But At This Time Richard Was Not In A

Confessing Humour; Therefore Milo Had To Gather Scandal As He Could.

There Was Very Little Difficulty About This. 'In The City Of Tours,' He

Writes, 'In Those Middle Days Of Advent, It Appears That Rumour, Still

Gadding, Was Adrift With Names Almost Too High For The Writing. There

Were Many There Who Had No Business; The Count Of Blois, For Instance,

The Baron Of Chateaudun, The Fighting Bishop Of Durham (I Fear, A

Hireling Shepherd), Geoffrey Talebot, Hugh Of Saint-Circ. One Reason Of

This Was That King Henry Was In England, Not Yet Come To An Agreement

With The French King, Nor Likely To It If What We Heard Was True, Yea,

Or A Tenth Part Of It. God Forbid That I Should Write What These Ears

Heard; But This I Will Say. It Was I Who Told The Shocking Tale To My

Lord Richard, Adding Also This Hint, That His Former Friend Was Involved

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 6 (Fruits Of The Tenzon The Back Of Saint Pol And The Front Of Montferrat) Pg 35

In It, Eudo Count Of Saint-Pol. If You Will Believe Me, Not The Tale Of

Iniquity Moved Him; But He Received It With Shut Mouth, And Eyes Fixed

Upon Mine. But At The Name Of The Count Of Saint-Pol He Took A Breath,

At The Mention Of His Part In The Business He Took A Deep Breath, And

When He Heard That This Man Was Yet At Tours, He Got Up From His Chair

And Struck The Table With His Closed Fist. Knowing Him As I Did, I

Considered That The Weather Looked Black For Saint-Pol.

 

'Next Day Count Richard Moved His Hosts Out Of The Fields By Poietiers

To The Very Borders Of His Country, And Calling A Halt At Saint-Gilles

And Making Snug Against Alarms, Himself, With My Lord Gaston Of Béarn,

With The Dauphin Of Auvergne Also, And The Viscount Of Béziers, Crossed

The March Into Touraine, And So Came To Tours About A Week Before

Christmas, The Weather Being Bright And Frosty.'

 

It Seems He Did Not Take The Abbot With Him, For The Rest Of The Good

Man's Record Is Full Of Morality, A Certain Sign That Facts Failed Him.

There May Have Been Reasons; At Any Rate The Count Went Into Tours In A

Trenchant Humour, With Ears Keen And Wide For All Shreds Of Report. And

He Got Enough And To Spare. In The Wet Market-Place, On The Flags Of The

Great Churchyard, By The Pillars Of The Nave, In The Hall, In The

Chambers, In The Inn-Galleries; Wherever Men Met Or Women Whispered In

Each Other's Necks, There Flew The Names Of Alois, King Philip's Sister,

And Of King Henry, Count Richard's Father. Richard Made Short Work,

Short And Dry. It Was In Mid-Hall In The Bishop's Palace, One Day After

Dinner, That He Met And Stopped The Count Of Saint-Pol.

 

'What Now, Beau Sire?' Says The Count, Out Of Breath. Richard's Eyes

Were Alight. 'This,' Says He, 'That You Lie In Your Throat.'

 

Count Eudo Looked About Him, And Everywhere Saw The Faces Of Men Risen

From The Board Intent On Him. 'Strange Words, Beau Sire,' Says He, Very

White. Richard Raised His Voice Till The Metal Rang In It.

 

'But Not Strange Doing, I Think, On Your Part. This Has Been Going On,

How Long?'

 

Saint-Pol Was Stung. 'Ah, It Becomes You Very Ill To Reproach Me, My

Lord.'

 

'I Think It Becomes Me Excellently,' Said Richard. 'You Have Lied For A

Vile Purpose; You Have Disgraced Your Name. You Seek To Drive Me By

Slander Whither I May Not Go In Honour. You Lie Like A Broker. You Are A

Shameful Liar.'

 

No Man Could Stand This From Another, However Great That Other; And

Saint-Pol Was Not A Coward. He Looked Up At His Adversary, Still White,

But Steady.

 

'How Then?' He Asked Him, 'How Then If I Lie Not, Count Of Poictou? And

How If You Know That I Lie Not?'

 

'Then,' Said Richard, 'You Use Insult, Which Is Worse.'

 

Saint-Pol Took Off His Glove Of Mail And Flung It With A Clatter On The

Floor.

 

'Since It Has Come To This, My Lord--' Richard Spiked The Glove With His

Sword, Tossed It To The Hammer-Beams Of The Roof, And Caught It As It

Fell.

 

'It Shall Come Nearer, Count, I Take It.' Thus He Finished The Other's

Phrase, Then Stalked Out Of The Bishop's House. It Was Then And There