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

Woman On His Back. And That For Two

Reasons: First, Because She Is So Much Dead Weight; And Second, Because

A Woman Is So Made That, If Her Bearer Did Achieve The Reward, She Would

Immediately Claim A Share In It. But That Is No Part Of The Divine Plan,

As I Understand It.'

 

'Let Us Talk Of The Laity, Milo,' Said The King, Abstractedly. 'If One

Of Them Set Up For A Runner, Should He Not Be A Virgin?'

 

'Lord,' Replied The Abbot, 'If He Can. But That Is Not So Convenient.'

 

'How Not So?' Asked King Richard.

 

'My Lord,' Milo Said, If All The Laity Were Virgins There Would Soon Be

No Laity At All, And Then There Would Be No Priests--A State Of Affairs

Not Provided For By The Holy Church. Moreover, The Laity Have A Kingdom

In This World; But The Religious Not Of This World. Now, This World Is

Too Excellent A Good Place Not To Be Peopled; And God Hath Appointed A

Pleasant Way.'

 

Said The King, 'A Way Of Sorrow And Shame.'

 

'Not So, Sire,' Said Milo, 'But A Way Of Honour. And If I Rejoice That

The Same Way Is Before Your Grace, I Am Not Alone In Happiness.'

 

'A King's Business,' Said Richard, 'Is To Govern Himself Wisely (Having

Paid His Debts), And His People Wisely. It May Be That He Should Get

Heirs If None Are. But If Heirs There Be, Then What Is His Business With

More? Why Should His Son Be Better King Than His Brother, For Example?'

 

'Lord,' Milo Admonished, 'A King Who Is Sure Of Himself Will Make Sure

Of His Issue. That Too Is A King's Business.'

 

Said Richard Moodily, 'Who Is Sure Of Himself?' He Turned Away His Head,

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Bidding Milo A Good Night. As The Abbot Made His Reverence He Added, 'I

Am To Be Married To-Morrow.'

 

'I Devoutly Hope So,' Said The Good Man. 'And Then Your Grace Will Have

A Surer Hope Than In Your Grace's Brother.'

 

'Get You To Bed, Milo,' Richard Said, 'And Let Me Be Alone.'

 

Married He Was, So Far As The Church Could Provide, In The Basilica Of

Limasol, With The Bishop Of Salisbury To Celebrate. Vassals Of His, And

Allies, Great Lords Of Three Realms, Bishops And Noble Knights Filled

The Church And Saw The Rites Done. High Above Them Afterwards, Before

The Altar, He Sat Crowned And Vested In Purple, Holding In His Right

Hand The Sceptre Of His Power, And The Orb Of His Dominion In His Left

Hand. Then Berengère, Daughter Of Navarre, Kneeling Before Him, Was By

Him Thrice Crowned: Queen Of England, Empress Of Cyprus, Duchess Of

Normandy. But She Never Got Upon Her Little Dark Head The Red Cap Of

Anjou Which Had Covered Up Jehane's Gold Hair. Jehane Was Neither At The

Church Nor At The Great Feast That Followed. She, On Richard's Bidding,

Was In Her Ship, _Li Chastel Orgoilous_, Whose Head Swayed To The

Running Tide.

 

But A Great Feast Was Held, At Which Queen Berengère Sat By The King In

A Gold Chair, And Was Served On Knees By The Chief Officers Of The

Household, The Kingdom, And The Duchy. Also, After Dinner, Full And Free

Homage Was Done Her--A Desperate Long Ceremony. The Little Lady Had

Great Dignity; And If They Found Her Stiff, It Is To Be Hoped They

Remembered Her Very Young. But Although Everybody Saw That Richard Was

In The Clutches Of His Ague Throughout These Performances, So Much So

That When He Was Not Talking His Teeth Chattered In His Head, And His

Hand Spilt The Wine On Its Way To The Mouth--None Were Prepared For

What Was To Come, Unless Such Intimates As Gaston Of Béarn Or Mercadet,

His Gascon Con Captain, May Have Known It. At The Close Of The

Homage-Giving He Rose Up In His Throne, Threw Back His Purple Robe, And

Showed To All Beholders The Wrinkled Mail Beneath It. He Was, In Fact,

In Chain-Armour From Shoulders To Feet. For A Moment All Looked

Open-Mouthed. He Drew His Sword With A Great Gesture, And Held It On

High.

 

'Peers And Noble Vassals,' He Called Out In Measured Tones (In Which,

Nevertheless, Deep Down The Shaking Fit Could Be Discerned, Vibrating

The Music), 'The Work Calls Us; Acre Is In Peril. Kings, Who Are

Servants Of The King Of Kings, Put By Their Private Concerns; Queens,

Who Bow To One Throne Only, To That Bow With Haste. Now, You Of The

Cross, Who Follows Me To Win The Cross? The Ships Are Ready, My Lords.

Shall We Go?'

 

The Great Hall Was Struck Dumb. Queen Berengère, Only Half

Understanding, Looked Scared About Her. One Could Not But Pity The

Extinguishment Of Her Poor Little Great Affairs. Queen Joan Grew Very

Red. She Had The Spirit Of Her Family, Was Angry, Fiercely Whispered In

Her Brother's Ear. He Barely Heard Her; He Shook Her Words From His

Ears, Stamped On The Pavement.

 

'Never, Never! I Am For The Cross! Lord Jesus, Behold Thy Knight! The

Work Is Ready, Shall I Not Do It? I Call Yea! For This Turn. Ha, Anjou!

To The Ships, To The Ships!'

 

His Sword Flickered In The Air; There Followed It, Leaping After The

Beam, A Great Swish Of Steel, Soon A Forest Of Swords.

 

'Ha, Richard! Ha, Anjou! Ha, Saint George!' So They Made The Rafters

Volley; And So Headlong After King Richard Tumbled Out Into The Dusk And

Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 2 (Of What Jehane Looked For And What Berengère Had) Pg 114

Sought The Ships. The New Queen Was Crying Miserably On The Daïs, Queen

Joan Tapping Her Foot Beside Her. Late At Night They Also Put Out To

Sea. On His Knees, Facing The Shrouded East, King Richard Spent His

Wedding Night, With His Bare Sword For His Partner.

 

Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 3 (Who Fought At Acre) Pg 115

After They Had Lost The Harbour Of Limasol, From That Hasty Dark Hour Of

Setting Out, The Fleet Sailed (It Seemed) Under New Stars And

Encountered A New Strange Air. All Night They Toiled At The Oars; And In

The Morning, Very Early, Every Eye Was Turned To The Fired East, Where,

In The Sea-Haze, Lay The Sacred Places Clothed (Like The Sacrament) In

That Gauzy Veil. First Of Them _Trenchemer_ Steered, The King's Red

Galley, In Whose Prow, Stiff And Hieratic As A Figurehead, Was The King

Himself, Watching For A Sign. The Great Ships Rolled And Plunged, The

Tide Came Racing By Them, Blue-Green Water Lipped With Foam, Carrying

Upon It Unknown Weeds, Golden Fruit Floating, Wreckage Unfamiliar, A

Dead Fish Scarlet-Rayed, A Basket Strangely Wrought--Drifting Heralds Of

A Country Of Dreams. About Noon, When Mass Had Been Said Upon His

Galley, King Richard Was Seen To Throw Up His Arms And Stretch Them

Wide; The Shout Followed The Sign--'Terra Sancta! Terra Sancta!' They

Heard Him Cry. Voice After Voice, Tongue After Tongue, Took Up The Word

And Lifted It From Ship To Ship. All Fell Upon Their Knees, Save The

Rowers. A Dim Coast, Veiled In Violet, Lifted Before Their

Eyes--Mountain Ranges, Great Hollows, Clouded Places, So Far And Silent,

So Mysteriously Wrapt, Full Of Awe, No One Could Speak, No One Had

Thought To Speak, But Must Look And Search And Wonder. A Quick Flight

Of Shore Birds, Flashing Creatures That Twittered As They Swept By,

Broke The Spell. This Then Was A Land Where Living Things Abode; It Was

Not Only Of The Sacred Dead. They Drew Nearer, Their Hearts Comforted.

 

They Saw Margat, A Lonely Tower High On A Split Rock; They Saw Tortosa,

With A Haven In The Sea; Tripolis, A Very White City; Neplyn. Botron

They Saw, With A Great Terraced Castle; Afterwards Beyrout, Cedars About

Its Skirt. Mountains Rose Up Nearer To The Sound Of The Surf; They Saw

Lebanon Capped With Cloud-Wreaths, Then Snowy Hermon Gleaming In The

Sun. They Saw Mount Tabor With A Grey Head, And Two Mountains Like

Spires Which Stood Separate And Apart. Tyre They Passed, And Sidon, Rich

Cities Set In The Sand, Then Scandalion; At Length After A Long Night Of

Watching A Soft Hill Showed, Covered With Verdure And Glossy Dark Woods,

Carmel, Shaped Like A Woman's Breast. Making This Hallowed Mount, In The

Plain Beyond They Saw Acre, Many-Towered; And All About It The Tents Of

The Christian Hosts, And Before It In The Blue Waters Of The Bay Ships

Riding At Anchor, More Numerous Than The Sea-Birds That Haunt Monte

Gibello Or Swim Sentinel About Its Base. Trumpets From The Shore

Answered To Their Trumpets; They Heard A Wild Tattoo Of Drums Within The

Walls. On Even Keels In The Motionless Tide The Ships Took Up Their

Moorings; And King Richard, Throwing The End Of His Cloak Over His

Shoulder, Jumped Off The Gunwale Of _Trenchemer_, And Waded Breast-Deep

To Shore. He Was The First Of His Realm To Touch This Storied Syrian

Earth.

Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 3 (Who Fought At Acre) Pg 116

Now For Affairs. The Meeting Of The Kings Was Cordial, Or Seemed So.

King Philip Came Out Of His Pavilion To Meet His Royal Brother, And

Richard, Kissing Him, Asked Him How He Did. 'Very Vilely, Richard,' Said

The Young Man. 'I Think There Is A Sword In My Head. The Glaring Sun

Flattens Me By Day, And All Night I Shiver.'

 

'Fever, My Poor Coz,' Said Richard, With A Kind Hand Upon His Shoulder.

Philip Burst Out With His Symptoms,