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

Tribune Where Jehane Sat Blushing. 'Take Him Into Your Favour, Lady Bel

Vezer,' He Said To Her. 'Whatever His Heart May Be, He Hath A Golden

Tongue.' Jehane, Stooping, Lent Him Her Cheek, And Bertran Fairly Kissed

Her Whom He Had Sought To Undo. Then Turning, Fired With Her Favour, He

Let His Shrill Voice Go Spiring To Heaven In Her Praise.

For These Feats Bertran Was Appointed To Her Household, As I Have Said.

He Made No Secret Of His Love For Her, But Sang Of Her Night And Day,

And Delighted Richard's Generous Heart. But Indeed Jehane Won The Favour

Of Most. If She Was Not So Beautiful As Saill, She Was More Courteous,

If Not So Pious As Elis, More The Woman For That. There Were Many,

Misled By Her Petulant Lips And Watchful Eyes, To Call Her Sulky: These

Did Not Judge Her Silence Favourably. They Thought Her Cold, And So She

Was To All But One; Their Eyes Might Have Told Them What She Was To Him,

And How When They Met In Love, To Kiss Or Cling, Their Two Souls Burned

Together. And If She Made A Sweet Lover, She Promised To Be A Rare

Countess. Her Judgment Was Never At Fault; She Was Noble, And Her Sedate

Gravity Showed Her To Be So. She Was No Talker, And Had Great Command

Over Herself; But She Was More Pale Than By Ordinary, And Her Eyes Were

Burning Bright. The Truth Was, She Was In A Fever Of Apprehension,

Restless, Doomed, Miserable; Devouringly In Love, Yet Dreading To Be

Loved. So, More And More Evidently In Pain, She Walked Her Part Through

The Blare Of Festival As Pentecost Drew Nigh.

'Upon That Day,' To Quote The Mellifluous Abbot, 'Upon That Day When In

Leaping Tongues The Spirit Of God Sat Upon The Heads Of The Holy

Apostles, And Gave Letters To The Unlettered And To The Speechless Its

Own Nature, Count Richard Wedded Dame Jehane, And Afterwards Crowned Her

Countess With His Own Hands.

'They Put Her, Crying Bitterly, Into The Count's Bed In The Castle Of

Poictiers On The Evening Of The Same Feast. Weeping Also, But At A Later

Day, I Saw Her Crowned Again At Angers With The Count's Cap Of Anjou. So

To Right Her And Himself Count Richard Did Both The Greatest Wrong Of

All.'

Much More Pageantry Followed The Marriage. I Admire Milo's Account. 'He

Held A Tournament After This, When The Count And The Party Of The Castle

Maintained The Field Against All Corners. There Was Great Jousting For

Six Days, I Assure You; For I Saw The Whole Of It. No English Knights

Were There, Nor Any From Anjou; But A Few French (Without King Philip's

Goodwill), Many Gascons And Men Of Toulouse And The Limousin; Some From

Over The Mountains, From Navarre, And Santiago, And Castile; There Also

Came The Count Of Champagne With His Friends. King Sancho Of Navarre Was

Excessively Friendly, With A Gift Of Six White Stallions, All Housed,

For Dame Jehane; Nobody Knew Why Or Wherefore At The Time, Except

Bertran De Born (O Thief Unrepentant!).

'Countess Jehane, With Her Ladies, Being Set In A Great Balcony Of Red

And White Roses, Herself All In Rose-Coloured Silk With A Chaplet Of

Purple Flowers, The First Day Came Count Richard In Green Armour And A

Surcoat Of The Same Embroidered With A Naked Man, A Branch Of Yellow

Broom In His Helm. None Held Up Against Him That Day; The Duke Of

Burgundy Fell And Brake His Collar-Bone. The Second Day He Drove Into

The Mêlée Suddenly, When There Was A Great Press Of Spears, All In Red

With A Flaming Sun On His Breast. He Sat A Blood-Horse Of Spain, Bright

Chestnut Colour And Housed In Red. Then, I Tell You, We Saw Horses And

Men Sunder Their Loves. The Third Day Pedro De Vaqueiras, A Knight From

Santiago, Encountered Him In His Silver Armour, When He Rode A Horse

White As The Holy Ghost. By A Chance Blow The Spaniard Bore Him Back On

To The Crupper. There Was A Great Shout, "The Count Is Down! Look To The

Castle, Poictou!" Dame Jehane Turned Colour Of Ash, For She Remembered

The Leper's Prophecy, And Knew That De Vaqueiras Loved Her. But Richard

Recovered Himself Quickly, Crying, "Have At You Again, Don Pedro." So

They Brought Fresh Spears, And Down Went De Vaqueiras On His Back, His

Horse Upon Him. To Be Plain, Not Hector Raging Over The Field With

Shouts For Achilles, Nor Flamboyant Achilles Spying After Hector, Nor

Hannibal At Cannae, Roland In The Woody Pass Of Roncesvalles, Nor The

Admired Lancelot, Nor Tristram Dreadful In The Cornish Isle--Not One Of

These Heroes Was More Gloriously Mighty Than Count Richard. Like The

War-Horse Of Job (The Prophet And Afflicted Man) He Stamped With His

Foot And Said Among The Captains "Ha Ha!" His Nostrils Scented The

Battle From Very Far Off; He Set On Like The Quarrell Of A Bow, And

Gathering Force As He Went, Came Rocking Into His Adversary Like Galley

Against Galley. With All This He Was Gentle, Had A Pleasant Laugh. It

Was Good To Be Struck Down By Such A Man, If It Ever Can Be Good. He

Bore Away Opposition As He Bore Away The Knights.'

If One Half Of This Were True, And No Man In Steel Could Withstand Him,

How Could Circumstance, How Could She, This Slim And Frightened Girl?

Mad Indeed With Love And Pride, Quite Beside Herself, She Forgot For

Once Her Tremors And Qualms. On The Last Day She Fell Panting Upon His

Breast; And He, A Great Lover, Kissed Her Before Them All, And Lifted

Her High In His Hands. 'Oyez, My Lords!' He Cried With A Mighty Voice,

'Is This A Lovely Wife I Have Won, Or Not?' They Answered Him With A

Shout.

He Took Her A Progress About His Country Afterwards. From Poictiers They

Went To Limoges, Thence Westward To Angoulesme, And South To Périgueux,

To Bazas, To Cahors, Agen, Even To Dax, Which Is Close To The Country Of

The King Of Navarre. Wherever He Led Her She Was Hailed With Joy. Young

Girls Met Her With Flowers In Their Hands, Wise Men Came Kneeling,

Offering The Keys Of Their Towns; The Youth Sang Songs Below Her

Balcony, The Matrons Made Much Of Her And Asked Her Searching Questions.

They Saw In Her A Very Superb And Handsome Duchess, Jehane Of The Fair

Girdle, Now Acclaimed In The Soft Syllables Of Aquitaine As Bel Vezer.

When They Were At Dax The Wise King Of Navarre Sent Ambassadors

Beseeching From Them A Visit To His City Of Pampluna; But Richard Would

Not Go. Then They Came Back To Poictiers And Shocking News. This Was Of

The Death Of King Henry Of England, The Old Lion, 'Dead (Milo Is Bold To

Say) In His Sin.'

I Must Report What Happened To The King Of England When (Like A Falcon

Foiled In His Stoop) He Found Himself Outpaced And Outgeneralled On The

Moor. Shaken Off By Those He Sought To Entrap, Baited By The Badger He

Hoped To Draw, He Took On Something Not To Be Shaken Off, Namely Death,

And Had Drawn From Him What He Would Ill Spare, Namely The Breath Of His

Nostrils. To Have Done With All This Eloquence, He Caught A Chill,

Which, Working On A Body Shattered By Rages And Bad Living, Smouldered

In Him--A Slow-Eating Fever Which Bit Him To The Bones, Charred And

Shrivelled Him Up. In The Clutches Of This Crawling Disease He Joined

His Forces With Those Of His Marshal, And Marched To The Relief Of Le

Mans, Where The French King Was Taking His Ease. Philip Fired The Place

When He Heard Of His Approach; So Henry Got Near Enough To See The Sky

Throbbing With Red Light, And Over All A Cloud Of Smoke Blacker Than His

Own Despair. It Is Said That He Had A Fit Of Hard Sobbing When He Saw

This Dreadful Sight. He Would Not Suffer The Host To Approach The

Burning City, But Took To His Bed, Turned His Face To The Tent-Wall, And

Refused Alike Housel And Meat. News, And Of The Worst, Came Fast. The

French Were At Châteaudun, The Countess Of Brittany's Men Were

Threatening Anjou From The North; All Touraine With Saumur And A Chain

Of Border Castles Were Subject To Richard His Son. These Things He Heard

Without Moving From His Bed Or Opening His Eyes.

After A Week Of This Misery Two Of His Lords, The Marshal, Namely, And

Bishop Hugh Of Durham, Came To His Bedside And Told Him, 'Sire, Here Are

Come Ambassadors From France Speaking Of A Peace. How Shall It Be?'

'As You Will,' Said The King; 'Only Let Me Sleep.' He Spoke Drowsily, As

If Not Really Awake, But It Is Thought That He Was More Watchful Than He

Chose To Appear.

They Held A Hasty Conference, Geoffrey His Bastard, The Marshal, The

Bishop: These And The French Ambassadors. On The King's Part They Made

But One Request; And Geoffrey Made That. The King Was Dying: Let Him Be

Taken Down To His Castle Of Chinon, Not Die In The Fields Like An Old

Hunting Dog. This Was Allowed. He Took No Sort Of Notice, Let Them Do

What They Would With Him, Slept Incessantly All The Way To Chinon.

They Brought Him The Parchments, Sealed With His Great Seal; And He,

Quite Broken, Set His Hand To Them Without So Much As A Curse On The

Robbery Done His Kingdom. But As The Bearers Were Going Out On Tiptoe He

Suddenly Sat Up In Bed. 'Hugh,' He Grumbled, 'Bishop Hugh, Come Thou

Here.' The Bishop Turned Back Eagerly, For Those Two Had Loved Each

Other In Their Way, And Knelt By His Bed.

'Read Me The Signatures To These Damned Things,' Said The King; And

Hugh Rejoiced That He Was Better, Yet Feared To Make Him Worse.

'Ah, Dear Sire,' He Began To Say; But 'Read, Man,' Said The Old King,

Jerking His Foot Under The Bedclothes. So Hugh The Bishop Began To Read

Them Over, And The Sick Man Listened With A Shaky Head, For By Now The

Fever Was Running High.

'Philip The August, King Of The Franks,' Says The Bishop; And 'A Dog's

Name,' The Old King Muttered In His Throat. 'Sanchez, Catholic King Of

Navarre,' Says Hugh; And 'Name Of An Owl,' King Henry. To The Same

Ground-Bass He Treated The Themes Of The Illustrious Duke Of Burgundy,

Henry Count Of Champagne, And Others Of The French Party. With These The

Bishop Would Have Stopped, But The King Would Have The Whole. 'Nay,