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

Hugh,' He Said--And His Teeth Chattered As If It Had Been Bitter

Cold--'Out With The Name Of My Beloved Son. So You Shall See What Joyful

Agreement There Is In My House.' The Bishop Read The Name Of Richard

Count Of Poictou, And The King Grunted His 'Traitor From The Womb,' As

He Had Often Done Before.

'Who Follows Richard?' He Asked.

'Oh, Our Lady, Is He Not Enough, Sire?' Said The Bishop In Fear. The Old

King Sat Bolt Upright And Steadied His Head On His Knees. 'Read,' He

Said Again.

'I Cannot Read!' Cried Hugh With A Groan. The King Said, 'You Are A

Fool. Give Me The Parchment.'

He Pored Over It, With Dim Eyes Almost Out Of His Keeping, Searching For

The Names At The Top. So He Found What He Had Dreaded--'John Count Of

Mortain.' Shaking Fearfully, He Began To Point At The Wall As If He Saw

The Man Before Him. 'Jesu! Count By Me, King By Me, And Judas By Me!

Now, God, Let Me Serve Thee As Thou Deservest. Thou Hast Taken Away All

My Sons. Now Then The Devil May Have My Soul, For Thou Shalt Never Have

It.' The Death-Rattle Was Heard In His Throat, And Hugh Sprang Forward

To Help Him: He Was Still Stiffly Upright, Still Looking (Though With

Filmy Eyes) At The Wall, Still Trying To Shape In Words His Wicked

Vaunts. No Words Came From Him; His Jaw Dropped Before His Strong Old

Body. They Brought Him The Sacrament; His Soul Rejected It--Too Clean

Food. Hugh And Others About Him, All In A Sweat, Got Him Down At Last.

They Anointed Him And Said A Few Prayers, For They Were In A Desperate

Hurry When It Came To The End. It Was Near Midnight When He Died, And At

That Hour, They Terribly Report, The Wind Sprang Up And Howled About The

Turrets Of Chinon, As If All Hell Was Out Hunting For That Which He Had

Promised Them. But, If The Truth Must Be Told, He Had Never Kept His

Promises, And There Is No Reason To Suppose That He Kept That One

Either. Milo Adds, So Died This Great, Puissant, And Terrible King,

Cursing His Children, Cursed In Them, As They In Him. All Power Was

Given Over To Him From His Birth, Save One Only, Power Over Himself. He

Was Indeed A Slave More Wretched Than Those Hinds, _Glebæ Ascriptitii_,

Whom At A Distance He Ruled In His Lands: He Was Slave Of His Baser

Parts. With God He Was Always At War, And With God's Elect. What Of

Blessed Thomas? Let Thomas Answer On The Last Day. I Deny Him None Of

His Properties; He Was Open-Handed, Open-Minded, As Bold As A Lion. But

His Vices Ate Him Up. Peace Be With The Man; He Was A Mighty King. He

Left A Wife In Prison, Two Sons In Arms Against Him, And Many Bastards.'

As Soon As He Was Dead His People Came About Like Flies And Despoiled

The Castle Of Chinon, The Bed Where He Lay (Smiling Grimly, As If Death

Had Made Him A Cynic), His Very Body Of The Rings On Its Fingers, The

Gold Circlet, The Christ Round His Neck. Such Flagrancy Was The Penalty

Of Death, Who Had Made Himself Too Cheap In Those Days; Nor Were There

Any Left With Him Who Might Have Said, Honour My Dead Father, Or Dead

Master. William The Marshal Had Gone To Rouen, Afraid Of Richard;

Geoffrey Was Half Way To Angers After Treasure; The Bishop Of Durham

(For Purposes) Had Hastened Off To Poictiers To Be The First To Hail The

New King. All That Remained Faithful In That Den Of Thieves Were A

Couple Of Poor Girls With Whom The Old Sinner Had Lately Had To Do.

Seeing He Was Left Naked On His Bed, One Of These--Nicolete Her Name

Was, From Harfleur--Touched The Other On The Shoulder--Kentish Mall They

Called Her--And Said, 'They Have Robbed Our Master Of So Much As A Shirt

To Be Buried In. What Shall We Do?'

Mall Said, 'If We Are Found With Him We Shall Be Hanged, Sure Enough.

Yet The Old Man Was Kind To Me.'

'And To Me He Was Kind,' Said Nicolete, 'God Wot.'

Then They Looked At Each Other. 'Well?' Said Nicolete. And Mall, 'What

You Do I Will Do.' So They Kissed Together, Knowing It Was A Gallows

Matter, And Went In To The Dead Body Of The King. They Washed It

Tenderly, And Anointed It, Composed The Hands And Shut Down The Horrible

Sightless Eyes, Then Put Upon It The Only Shirt They Could Find, Which

(Being A Boy's) Was A Very Short One. Afterwards Came The Chancellor,

Stephen Of Turon, Called Up In A Great Hurry From A Merry-Making, With

One Or Two Others, And Took Some Order In The Affair.

The Chancellor Knew Perfectly Well That King Henry Had Desired To Be

Buried In The Church Of The Nuns At Fontevrault. There Had Been An Old

Prophecy That He Should Lie Veiled Among The Veiled Women Which Had

Pleased Him Very Much, Though It Had Often Been His Way To Scoff At It.

But No One Dared Move Him Without The Order Of The New King, Whoever

That Might Happen To Be. Who Could Tell When Anjou Was Claiming A Crown?

Messengers Therefore Were Sent Out Hot-Foot To Count Richard At

Poictiers, And To Count John, Who Was Supposed To Be In Paris. He,

However, Was At Tours With The French King, And Got The News First.

It Caught Him In The Wind, So To Put It. Alain, A Canon Of Tours, Came

Before Him Kneeling, And Told Him. 'Lord Christ, Alain, What Shall We

Do?' Says He, As White As A Cheese-Cloth. They Fell Talking Of This Or

That, That Might Or Might Never Be Done, When In Burst King Philip,

Saint-Pol, Des Barres, And The Purple-Faced Duke Of Burgundy. King

Philip Ran Up To John And Clapped Him On The Back.

'King John! King John Of England!' Screamed The Young Man, Like A Witch

In The Air; Then Burgundy Began His Grumble Of Thunder.

'I Stand For You, By God. I Am For You, Man.' But Saint-Pol Knelt And

Touched His Knee.

'Sire, Do Me Right, And I Become Your Man!' So Said Des Barres Also.

Count John Looked About Him And Wrung His Hands.

'Heh, My Lords! Heh, Sirs! What Shall I Do Now?' He Was Liquid; Fear And

Desire Frittered His Heart To Water.

They Held A Great Debate, All Talking At Once, Except The Subject Of The

Bother. He Could Only Bite His Nails And Look Out Of The Window. To

Them, Then, Came Creeping Alois Of France, Deadly Pale, Habited In The

Grey Weeds Of A Nun. How She Got In, I Know Not; But They Parted This

Way And That Before Her, And So She Came Very Close To John In His

Chair, And Touched Him On The Shoulder. 'What Now, Traitor?' She Said

Hoarsely. 'Whom Next? The Sister Betrayed; The Father; And Now The

Brother And King?'

John Shook. 'No, No, Alois, No No!' He Said In A Whisper. 'Go To Bed. We

Think Not Of It.' But She Still Stood Looking At Him, With A Wry Smile

On That Face Of Hers, Pinched With Grief And Old Before Its Time.

Saint-Pol Stamped His Foot. 'Whom Shall We Trust In Anjou?' He Said To

Des Barres. Des Barres Shrugged. The Duke Of Burgundy Grumbled Something

About 'D----D Women,' And King Philip Ordered His Sister To Bed. They

Got Her Out Of The Room After A Painful Scene, And Fell To Wrangling

Again, Trying To Screw Some Resolution Into The White Prince Whom They

All Intended To Use As A Cat's-Paw. About Eight O'clock In The

Morning--They Still At It--Came A Shatter Of Hoofs In The Courtyard,

Which Made Count John Jump In His Skin. A Herald Was Announced.

Reeking He Stood, And Stood Covered, In The Presence Of So Much Majesty.

'Speak, Sir,' Said King Philip; And 'Uncover Before France, You Dog,'

Said Young Saint-Pol. The Herald Kept His Cap Where It Was.

'I Speak From England To The English. This Is The Command Of My Master,

Richard King Of The English, Duke Of Normandy, Count Of Anjou. Bid Our

Brother, The Illustrious Count Of Mortain, Attend Us At Fontevrault With

All Speed For The Obsequies Of The King Our Father. And Those Who Owe

Him Obedience, Let Them Come Also.'

There Was Low Murmuring In The Chamber, Which Grew In Volume, Until At

Last Burgundy Thundered Out, 'England Is Here! Cut Down That Man.' But

The Herald Stood His Ground, And No One Drew A Sword. John Dismissed Him

With A Few Smooth Words; But He Could Not Get Rid Of His Friends So

Easily. Nor Could They Succeed With Him. If Montferrat Had Been There

They Might Have Screwed Him To The Pitch. Montferrat Had A Clear Course:

Any King Of England Who Would Help Him To The Throne Of Jerusalem Was

The King Of England He Would Serve. But Philip Would Not Commit Himself,

And Burgundy Waited On Philip. As For Saint-Pol, He Was Nothing But A

Sword Or Two And An Unquenchable Grudge. And Forbidding In The

Background Stood Alois, With Reproach In Her Sunken Eyes. The End Of It

Was That Count John, After A While, Rode Out Towards Fontevrault With

All The Pomp He Could Muster. Thither Also, It Is Clear, Went Madame

Alois.

'I Was With My Master,' Says Milo In His Book, 'When They Brought Him

The News. He Was Not Long Home From The South, Had Been Hawking In The

Meadows All Day, And Was Now In Great Fettle, Sitting Familiarly Among

His Intimates, Jehane On His Knee. Bertran De Born Was In There Singing

Some Free Song, And The Gentle Viscount Of Béziers, And Lady Elis Of

Montfort (Who Sat On A Cushion And Played With Dame Jehane's Hand), And

Gaston Of Béarn, And (I Think) Lady Tibors Of Vézelay. Then Came The

Usher Suddenly Into The Room With His Wand, And By The Door Fell Upon

One Knee, A Sort Of State Which Count Richard Had Always Disliked. It

Made Him Testy.

'"Well, Gaucelm, Well," He Said; "On Your Two Legs, My Man, If You Are

To Please Me."

'"Lord King--" Gaucelm Began, Then Stopped. My Lord Bayed At Him.

'"Oy Deus!" He Said In Our Tongue, Below His Breath; And Jehane Slid Off

His Knee And On To Her Own. So Fell Kneeling The