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

L'evèque To Rouen; And There They Found The Queen-Mother, An

Unquenchable Spirit. One Of Richard's First Acts Had Been To Free Her

From The Fortress In Which, For Ten Years Or More, The Old King Had Kept

Her. There Were No Prison-Traces Upon Her When She Met Her Son, And

Fixed Her Son's Mistress With A Calculating Eye. A Low-Browed, Swarthy

Woman, Heavily Built, With The Wreck Of Great Beauty Upon Her, Having

Fingers Like The Talons Of A Bird And A Trap-Mouth; It Was Not Hard To

See That Into The Rocky Mortice Where Richard Had Been Cast There Went

Some Grains Of Flint From Her. She Had Slow, Deliberate Movements Of The

Body, But A Darting Mind; She Was A Most Passionate Woman, But Frugal Of

Her Passion, Eking It Out To Cover Long Designs. Whether She Loved Or

Hated--And She Could Glow With Either Lust Until She Seemed

Incandescent--She Went Slowly To Work. The Quicker She Saw, The Slower

She Was Reducing Sight Into Possession. With All This, Like Her Son

Richard, She Was Capable Of Strong Revulsions. Thus She Had Loved, Then

Hated King Henry; Thus She Was To Spurn, Then To Cling To Jehane.

At Rouen She Did Her Best To Crush The Young Girl To The Pavement With

Her Intolerable Flat-Lidded Eyes. When Jehane Saw Her Stand On The Steps

Of The Church Amidst The Pomp Of Normandy And England--Three Archbishops

By Her, William Marshal, William Longchamp, The Earls, The Baronage, The

Knights, Heralds, Blowers Of Trumpets; When At Her Example All This

Glory Of Church And State Bent The Knee To Richard Of Anjou, And He,

Kneeling In Turn, Kissed His Mother's Hand, Then Rose And To The Others

Gave His To Be Kissed; When He, Vowed To Her, Pledged To Her, Known Of

Her More Secretly Than Of Any, Passed Through The Blare Of Horns Alone

Into The Soaring Nave--Jehane Shivered And Crossed Herself, Faltered A

Little, And Might Have Fallen. Her King Was Doing By Her As She Had

Prayed Him; But The Scrutiny Of The Queen-Mother Had Been A Dry Gloss To

The Text. She Had Been Able To Bear Her Forsaking With A Purer Heart,

But For The Narrow Eyes That Witnessed It And Gleamed. One Of Her

Ladies, Magdalène Coucy, Put An Arm About Her; So Countess Jehane

Stiffened And Jerked Up Her Head, And After That Walked With No More

Faltering. If She Had Seen, As Milo Saw, Gilles De Gurdun Glowering At

Her From A Corner, It Might Have Gone Hard With Her. But She Did Not.

They Crowned Richard Duke Of Normandy, And To Him Came All The Barons Of

The Duchy One By One, To Do Him Homage. And First The Archbishop Of

Rouen, In Whose Allegiance Was That Same Sir Gilles. But Gilles Knew

Very Well That There Could Be No Fealty From Him To This Robber Of A

Duke. Gilles Had Seen Jehane; And When He Could Bear The Sight No More

For Fear His Eyes Should Bleed, He Went And Walked About The Streets To

Cool His Head. He Swore By All The Saints In The Calendar Of Rouen--And

These Are Many--That He Would Close This Account. Let Him Be Torn Apart

By Horses, He Would Kill The Man Who Had Stolen His Wife And Killed His

Father And Brother, Were He Duke, King, Or Emperor Of The West.

Meantime, In The Church That Golden-Haired Duke, Set High On The Throne

Of Normandy, Received Between His Hands The Hands Of The Normans; And In

A Stall Of The Choir Jehane Prayed Fervently For Him, With Her Arms

Enfolding Her Bosom.

Gilles Was Seen Again At Harfleur, When The King Embarked For England.

He Had A Hood Over His Head; But Milo Knew Him By The Little Steady Eyes

And Bar Of Black Above. When The Great Painted Sails Bellied To The

Off-Shore Wind And The Dragon-Standard Of England Pointed The Sea-Way

Northward Into The Haze, Milo Saw Gilles Standing On The Mole, A Little

Apart From His Friends, Watching The Galley Which Took Jehane Out Of

Reach.

If Milo Found The Normans Like Ginger In The Mouth, It Is Not To Be

Supposed That The English Suited Him Any Better. He Calls Them

'Fog-Stewed,' Says That They Ate Too Much, And Were As Proud Of That As

Of Everything Else They Did. Luckily, He Had Very Little To Do With

Them, Though Not Much Less, Perhaps, Than His Master. Dry Facts Content

Him: How The King Disembarked At Southampton And Took Horse; How He Rode

Through Forests To Winchester; How There He Was Met By The Bishop, Heard

Mass In The Minster, And Departed For Guildford; Thence Again, How

Through Wood And Heath They Came To Westminster 'And A Fair Church Set

In Meadows By A Broad Stream'--To Tell This Rapidly Contents Him. But

Once In London The Story Begins To Concentrate. It Is Clear There Was

Danger For Jehane. King Richard, It Seems, Caused Her To Be Lodged 'In A

Place Of Nuns Over The River, In A Place Which Is Called In English

Lamehithe.'

This Was Quite True; Danger There Was, As Richard Saw, Who Knew His

Mother. But He Did Not Then Know How Quick With Danger The Times Were.

The Queen-Mother Had Upon Her The Letter Of Don Sancho The Wise, And To

Her The Politics Of Europe Were An Open Book. One Holy War Succeeded

Another, And One King; But What King That Might Be Depended Neither Upon

Holiness Nor War So Much As On The Way Each Was Used. Marriage With

Navarre Might Push Anjou Across The Mountains; The Holy War Might Lift

It Across The Sea. Who Was The 'Yellow-Haired King Of The West' Whom

They Of The East Foretold, If Not Her Goodly Son? Should God Be Thwarted

By A ----? She Hesitated Not For A Word, But I Hesitate.

If The Queen-Mother Was Afraid Of Anything In The World, It Was Of The

Devil In The Race She Had Mothered. It Had Thwarted Her In Their Father,

But It Cowed Her In Her Sons. Most Of All, I Think, In Richard She

Feared It, Because Richard Could Be So Cold. A Flamy Devil As In Young

Henry, Or A Brimstone Devil As In Geoffrey Of Brittany, Or A Spitfire

Devil As Was John's--With These She Could Cope, Her Lord Had Had Them

All. But In Richard She Was Shy Of The Bleak Isolation, The

Self-Sufficing, The Hard, Chill Core. She Dreaded It, Yet It Drew Her;

She Was Tempted To Beat Vainly At It For The Passion's Sake; And So In

This Case She Dared To Do. She Would Cheerfully Have Killed The Minion,

But She Dared The King First.

When She Opened To Him The Matter Of Don Sancho's Letter, None Knew

Better Than Richard That The Matter Might Have Been Good. Yet He Would

Have Nothing To Say To It. 'Madame,' His Words Were, 'This Is An Idle

Letter, If Not Impertinent. Don Sancho Knows Very Well That I Am Married

Already.'

'Eh, Sire! Eh, Richard!' Said The Queen-Mother, 'Then He Knows More Than

I.'

'I Think Not, Madame,' The King Replied, 'Since I Have This Moment

Informed You.'

The Queen Swallowed This; Then Said, 'This Wife Of Yours, Richard, Who

Is Not Duchess Of Normandy, Will Not Be Queen, I Doubt?'

Richard's Face Grew Haggard; For The Moment He Looked Old. 'Such Again

Is The Fact, Madame.'

'But--' The Queen Began. Richard Looked At Her, So She Ended There.

Afterwards She Talked With The Archbishop Of Canterbury, With The

Marshal, With Longchamp Of Ely, And Her Son John. All These Worthies

Were Pulling Different Ways, Each Trying To Get The Rope To Himself.

With That Rope John Hoped To Hang His Brother Yet. 'Dearest Madame,' He

Said, 'Richard Cannot Marry In Navarre Even If He Were Willing. Once He

Has Been Betrothed, And Has Broken Plight; Once He Saw His Mistress

Betrothed, And Broke Her Plight. Now He Is Wedded, Or Says That He Is.

Suppose That You Get Him To Break This Wedlock, Will You Give Him

Another Woman To Deceive? There Is No More Faithless Beast In The World

Than Richard.'

'Your Words Prove That There Is One At Least,' Said The Queen-Mother

With Heat. 'You Speak Very Ill, My Son.'

Said John, 'And He Does Very Ill, By The Bread!'

William Marshal Interposed. 'I Have Seen Much Of The Countess Of Anjou,

Madame,' Said This Honest Gentleman. 'Let Me Tell Your Grace That She Is

A Most Exalted Lady.' He Would Have Said More Had The Queen-Mother

Endured It, But She Cried Out Upon Him.

'Anjou! Who Dares Put Her Up There?'

'Madame,' Said William, 'It Was My Lord The King.' The Queen Fumed.

Then The Archbishop Said, 'She Is Nobly Born, Of The House Of Saint-Pol.

I Understand That She Has A Clear Mind.'

'More,' Cried The Marshal, 'She Has A Clear Heart!'

'If She Had Nothing Clear About Her I Have That Which Would Bleach Her

White Enough,' Said The Queen-Mother; And Longchamp, Who Had Said

Nothing At All, Grinned.

In The Event, The Queen One Day Took To Her Barge, Crossed The River,

And Confronted The Girl Who Stood Between England And Navarre.

Jehane, Who Was Sitting With Her Ladies At Needlework, Was Not So Scared

As They Were. Like The Nymphs Of The Hunting Maid They All Clustered

About Her, Showing The Queen-Mother How Tall She Was And How Nobly

Figured. She Flushed A Little And Breathed A Little Faster; But Making

Her Reverence She Recovered Herself, And Stood With That Curious Look On

Her Face, Half Surprise, Half Discontent, Which Made Men Call Her The

Sulky Fair. So The Queen-Mother Read The Look.

'No Pouting With Me, Mistress,' She Said. 'Send These Women Away. It Is

With You I Have To Deal.'

'Do We Deal Singly, Madame?' Said Jehane. 'Then My Ladies Shall Seek For

Yours The Comforts Of A Discomfortable Lodging. I Am Sorry I Have No

Better.' The Queen-Mother Nodded Her People Out Of The Room; So She And

Jehane Were Left Alone Together.

'Mistress,' Said The Queen-Mother, 'What Is This Between You And My Son?

Playing And Kissing Are To Be Left Below The Degrees Of A Throne. Let

There Be No More Of It. Do You Dare, Are You So Hardy In The Eyes, As To

Look Up To A Kingly Seat, Or Measure Your Head For A King's Crown?'

Jehane Had Plenty Of Spirit, Which A Very Little Of This Sort Of Talk

Would Have Fanned Into A Flame; But She Had Irony Too.

'Madame, Alas!' She Said, With A Hint Of Shrugging; 'If I Have Worn The

Count's Cap I Know The Measure Of My Head.'

The Queen-Mother Took Her By The Wrist 'My Girl,' Said She, 'You Know