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

Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 6 (The Chapter Called Clytemnestra) Pg 141

Must Respect Her Prayers, He Must Needs Respect Her Person Also. The

King Thought Within Himself, "I Have Promised Madame De Saint-Pol That

I Will Never Strive With Her In Love; And I Will Not. Now Must I Promise

Almighty God That, In Her Life, I Will Not Strive So At All." Alas,

Madame, And Alas! Here The King Was Too Strong For The Girl; Here Her

Own Nobility Rose Up Against Her. Pity Her, Not Blame Her; And For The

King--I Dare To Say It--Find Pity As Well As Blame. All Those Who Love

His High Heart, His Crowned Head, Find Pity For Him In Theirs. For Many

There Are Who Do Better, Having No Occasion To Do As Ill; But There Can

Be None Who Mean Better, For None Have Such Great Motions.'

 

Milo Might Have Spared His Breath. The Queen Had Heard One Phrase Of All

His Speech, And During The Rest Had Pondered That. When He Had Done, She

Said, 'Fetch Me In This Lady. I Would Speak With Her.'

 

'Breast Shall Touch Breast Here,' Said Milo To Himself, Full Of Hope,

'And Mouth Meet Mouth. Courage, Old Heart.'

 

When The Tall Girl Was Brought In Queen Berengère Did Not Look At Her,

Nor Make Any Response To Her Deep Reverence; But Bade Her Fetch A Mirror

From The Table. In This She Looked At Herself Steadily For Some Time,

Smoothing And Coiling Back Her Hair, Arranging Her Neck-Covering So As

To Show Something Of Her Bosom, And So On. She Sent Jehane For Boxes Of

Unguent, Her Colour-Boxes, Brush For The Eyebrows, Powder For The Face.

Finally She Had Brought To Her A Little Crown Of Diamonds, And Set It In

Her Hair. After Patting Her Head And Turning It About And About, She Put

The Glass Down And Made A Long Survey Of Jehane.

 

'They Do Well,' She Said, 'Who Call You Sulky: You Have A Sulky Mouth.

I Allow Your Shape; But There Are Reasons For That. You Are Very Tall;

You Have A Long Throat. Green Eyes Are My Detestation--Fie, Turn Them

From Me. Your Hair Is Wonderful, And Your Skin. I Suppose Women Of The

North Are So Commonly. Come Nearer.' Jehane Obeying, The Queen Touched

Her Neck, Then Her Cheek. 'Show Me Your Teeth,' She Said. 'They Are

Strong And Good, But Much Larger Than Mine. Your Hands Are Big, And So

Are Your Ears; You Do Well To Cover Them. Let Me See Your Foot.' She

Peeped Over The Edge Of The Bed; Jehane Put Her Foot Out. 'It Is Not So

Large As I Expected,' Said The Queen, 'But Much Larger Than Mine.' Then

She Sighed And Threw Herself Back. 'You Are Certainly A Very Tall Girl.

And Twenty-Three Years Old? I Am Not Twenty Yet, And Have Had Fifty

Lovers. The Abbot Of Poictiers Said You Were Beautiful. Do You Think

Yourself So?'

 

'It Is Not My Part To Think Of It, Madame,' Said Jehane, Holding Herself

Rather Stiffly.

 

'You Mean That You Know It Too Well,' Said Berengère. 'I Suppose It Is

True. You Have A Fine Colour And A Fine Person--But That Is A Woman's.

Now Look At Me Carefully, And Say How You Find Me. Put Your Hand Here,

And Here, And Here. Touch My Hair; Look Well At My Eyes. My Hair Reaches

To My Knees When I Stand Up, To The Floor When I Sit Down. I Am A King's

Daughter. Do You Not Think Me Beautiful?'

 

'Yes, Madame. Oh, Madame--!' Jehane, Trembling Before Her Visions, Could

Hardly Stand Still; But The Queen (Who Had No Visions Now The Mirror Was

Put By) Went Plaining On.

 

'When I Was In My Father's Court His Poets Called Me Frozen Heart,

Because I Was Cold In Loving. Messire Bertran De Born Loved Me, And So

Did My Cousin The Count Of Provence, And The Count Of Orange, And

Raimbaut, And Gaucelm, And Ebles Of Ventadorn. Now I Have Found One

Colder Than Ever I Was, And I Am Burning. Are You A Great Lover Of The

King?'

Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 6 (The Chapter Called Clytemnestra) Pg 142

At This Question, Put So Quietly, Jehane Grew Grave. It Took Her Above

Her Sense Of Dangers, Being In Itself A Dignity. 'I Love The King So

Well, Queen Berengère,' She Said, 'That I Think I Shall Make Him Hate Me

In Time.'

 

'Folly,' Snapped The Queen, 'Or Guile. You Would Spur Him. Is It True

What The Abbot Milo Told Me?'

 

'I Know Not What He Has Told You,' Said Jehane; 'But It Is True That I

Have Not Dared Let The King Love Me, And Now Dare Least Of All.'

 

The Queen Clenched Her Hands And Teeth. 'You Devil,' She Said, 'How I

Hate You. You Reject What I Long For, And He Loathes Me For Your Sake.

You A Creature Of Nought, And I A King's Daughter.'

 

From The Nostrils Of Jehane The Breath Came Fluttering And Quick; In Her

Splendid Bosom Stirred A Storm That, If She Had Chosen To Let It Loose,

Could Have Shrivelled This Little Prickly Leaf: But She Replied Nothing

To The Queen's Hatred. Instead, With Eyes Fixed In Vacancy, And One Hand

Upon Her Neck, She Spoke Her Own Purpose And Lifted The Talk To High

Matters.

 

'I Touch Not Again Your King And Mine, O Queen. But I Go To Save Him.'

 

'Woman,' Said Berengère, 'Do You Dare Tell Me This? Are My Miseries

Nothing To You? Have You Not Worked Woe Enough?'

 

Jehane Suddenly Threw Her Hair Back, Fell Upon Her Knees, Lifted Her

Chin. 'Madame, Madame, Madame! I Must Save Him If I Die. I Implore Your

Pardon--I Must Go!'

 

'Why, What Can You Do Against Montferrat?' The Queen Shivered A Little:

Jehane Looked Fixedly At Her, Solemn As A Dying Nun.

 

'You Say That I Am Handsome,' She Said, Then Stopped. Then In A Very Low

Voice--'Well, I Will Do What I Can.' She Hung Her Golden Head.

 

The Queen, After A Moment Of Shock, Laughed Cruelly. 'I Suppose I Could

Not Wish You Anything Worse Than That. I Hate You Above All People In

The World, Mother Of A Bastard. Oh, It Will Be Enough Punishment. Go,

You Hot Snake; Leave Me.'

 

Jehane Rose To Her Feet, Bowed Her Head And Went Out. Next Moment The

Queen Must Have Whipped Out Of Bed, For She Caught Her Before She Could

Shut The Door, And Clung To Her Neck, Sobbing Desperately. 'O God,

Jehane, Save Richard! Have Mercy On Me, I Am Most Wretched.' Now The

Other Seemed To Be Queen.

 

'My Girl,' Said Jehane, 'I Will Do What I Promised.' She Kissed The

Scorching Forehead, And Went Away With Milo To Find Giafar Ibn Mulk.

 

To Get At Him It Was Necessary To Put The Girl Fanoum To The Question.

This Was Done. Giafar Ibn Mulk, Enticed Into The House, Proved To Be A

Young Man Of Prudence And Resource. He Could Not, He Said, Conduct Them

To His Master, Because He Had Been Told To Conduct The Marquess; But An

Equally Sure Guide Could Be Found, And There Were No Objections To His

Delaying His Own Illustrious Convoy For A Week Or More. Further Than

That He Could Not Go, Nor Did The Near Prospect Of Death, Which The

Abbot Exhibited To Him, Prove Any Inducement To The Alteration Of His

Mind. 'Death?' He Said, When The Implements Of That Were Before Him. 'If

I Am To Die, I Am To Die: Not Twice It Happens To A Man. But I Recommend

To These Priests The Expediency Of First Finding El Safy.' As This Was

Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 6 (The Chapter Called Clytemnestra) Pg 143

To Be Their Guide Up Lebanon, Those Priests Agreed. El Safy Also Agreed,

When They Had Him. A Galley Was Got Ready For Sea; The Provisional Grand

Master Of The Temple Wrote A Commendatory Letter To His 'Beloved Friend

In The One God, Sinan, Lord Of The Assassins, _Vetus De Monte_'; And

Then, In Two Days' Time, Milo The Abbot, Jehane With Her Little Fulke, A

Few Women, And El Safy (Their Master In The Affair), Left Acre For

Tortosa, Whence They Must Climb On Mule-Back To Lebanon.

 

Volume 91 Book 2 (The Book Of Nay) Chapter 7 (The Chapter Of The Sacrifice On Lebanon Also Called Cassandra) Pg 144

 

From The Haven At Acre To The Bill Of Tortosa Is Two Days' Sailing With

A Fair Wind. Thence, Climbing The Mountains, You Reach Musse In Four

Days More, If The Passes Are Open. If They Are Shut You Do Not Reach It

At All. High On Lebanon, Above The Frozen Gorge Where Orontes And

Leontes, Rivers Of Syria, Separate In Their Courses; Above The Terrace

Of Cedars, Above Shurky The Clouded Mountain, Lies A Deep Green Valley

Sentinelled On All Sides By Snow Peaks And By The Fortresses Upon Their

Tops. In The Midst Of That, Among Cedars And Lines Of Cypress Trees, Is

The White Palace Of The Lord Of The Assassins, As Big As A Town. A Man

May Climb From Pass To Pass Of Lebanon Without Striking Upon The Place;

Sighting It From Some Dangerous Crag, He May Yet Never Approach It. None

Visit The Old Man Of Musse But Those Who Court Death In One Of His

Shapes; And To Such He Never Denies It. Dazzling Snow-Curtains, Black

Hanging-Woods, Sheer Walls Of Granite, Frame It In: Looking Up On All

Sides You See The Soaring Pikes; And Deep Under A Coffer-Lid Of Blue It

Lies, Greener Than An Emerald, A Valley Of Easy Sleep. There In The

Great Chambers Young Men Lie Dreaming Of Women, And Sleek Boys Stand

About The Doorways With Cups Of Madness