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

The Hills Of Languedoc, Of Henry His Handsome Brother, Of Bertran De

Born And The Falcon At Le Puy. Then Followed A Pleasant Thing. Saladin,

The Noble Foe, Heard Of It, And Sent Saphadin His Brother To Visit Him.

They Brought The Great Emir Into The Tent Of His Great Enemy.

'O God Of The Christians!' Cried He With Tears, 'What Is This Work Of

Thine, To Make Such A Mirror Of Thy Might, And Then To Shatter The

Glass?' He Kissed King Richard's Burning Forehead, Then Stood Facing The

Standers-By.

'I Tell You, My Lords, There Has Been No Such King As This In Our

Country. My Brother The Sultan Would Rather Lose Jerusalem Than Have

Such A Man To Die.'

At This Richard Opened His Eyes. 'Eh, Saphadin, My Friend,' He Says,

'Death Is Not Mine Yet, Nor Jerusalem Either. Make Me A Truce With My

Brother Saladin For Three Years. Then With The Grace Of God I Will Come

And Fight Him Again. But For This Time I Am Spent.'

'Are You Wounded, Dear Sire?' Asked Saphadin.

'Wounded?' Said The King In A Whisper. 'Yes, Wounded In The Soul, And In

The Heart--Sick, Sick, Sick.'

Saphadin, Kneeling Down, Kissed His Ring. 'May The God Whom In Secret We

Both Worship, The God Of Gods, Do Well By You, My Brother.' So He Said,

And Richard Nodded And Smiled At Him Kindly.

When Peace Was Made They Carried Him To His Ship. The Fleet Went To

Acre.

King Richard Sent For His Sister Joan Of Sicily On The Morrow Of His

Coming To Acre, And Thus Addressed Her: 'Let Me Hear Now, Sister, The

Truth Of What Passed When The Queen Saw Madame D'anjou.'

'Madame D'anjou!' Cried Joan, Who (As You Know) Had Plenty Of Spirit; 'I

Think You Rob The Queen Of A Title There.'

'I Cannot Rob Her Of What She Never Had,' Said King Richard; 'But I Will

Repeat My Question If You Do Not Remember It.'

'No Need, Sire,' Replied The Lady, And Told Him All She Knew. She Added,

'Sire And My Brother, If I May Dare To Say So, I Think The Queen Has A

Grief. Madame Jehane Made No Pretensions--I Hope I Do Her Full

Justice--But Remember That The Queen Made None Either. You Took Her Of

Your Royal Will; She Was Conscious Of The Honour. But Of What You Gave

You Took Away More Than Half. The Queen Loves You, Richard; She Is A

Most Miserable Lady, Yet There Is Time Still. Make A Wife Of Your Queen,

Brother Richard, And All Will Be Well. For What Other Reason In The

World Did Madame Jehane What She Did? For Love Of An Old Man Whom She

Had Never Seen, Do You Think?'

The King's Brow Grew Dark Red. He Spoke Deliberately. 'I Will Never Make

Her My Wife. I Will Never Willingly See Her Again. I Should Sin Against

Religion Or Honour If I Did Either. I Will Never Do That. Let Her Go To

Her Own Country.'

'Sire, Sire,' Said Joan, 'How Is She To Do That?'

'As She Will,' Says The King; 'But, For My Part Of It, With Every Proper

Accompaniment.'

'Sire, The Dowry--'

'I Return It, Every Groat.'

'The Affront--'

'The Affront Is Offered. I Prevent A Greater Affront.'

'Is This Fixed, Richard?'

'Irrevocably.'

'She Loves You, Sire!'

'She Loves Ill. Get Up On Your Feet.'

'Sire, I Beseech You Pity Her.'

'I Pity Her Deeply. I Think I Pity Everybody With Whom I Have Had To

Deal. I Do Not Choose To Have Any More Pitiful Persons About Me. Fare

You Well, Sister. Go, Lest I Pity You.' She Pleaded.

'Ah, Sire!'

'The Audience Is At An End,' Said The King; And The Queen Of Sicily Rose

To Take Leave.

He Kept His Word, Never Saw Berengère Again But Once, And That Was Not

Yet. What Remained For Him To Do In Syria He Did, Patched Up A Truce

With Saladin, Saw To Henry Of Champagne's Election, To Guy Of Lusignan's

Establishment; Dealt Out Such Rewards And Punishments As Lay In His

Power, Sent The Two Queens With A Convoy To Marseilles. Then, Two Years

From His Hopeful Entry Into Acre As A Conqueror, He Left It A Defeated

Man. He Had Won Every Battle He Had Fought And Taken Every City He Had

Invested. His Allies Had Beaten Him, Not The Heathen.

They Were To Beat Him Again, With Help. The Very Skies Took Their Part.

He Was Beset By Storms From The Day He Launched On The Deep, Separated

From His Convoy, Driven From One Shore To Another, Fatally Delayed. His

Enemies Had Time To Gather At Home: Eustace Of Saint-Pol, Beauvais,

Philip Of France; And Behind All These Was John Of Mortain, Moving

Heaven And Earth And Them To Get Him A Realm. By A Providence, As He

Thought It, Richard Put Into Corsica Under Stress Of Weather, And There

Heard How The Land Lay In Gaul. Philip Had Won Over Raymond Of Toulouse,

Saint-Pol Heading A Joint-Army Of Theirs Was Near Marseilles, Ready To

Destroy Him. King Richard Was To Walk Into A Trap. By This Time, You

Must Know, He Had No More To His Power Than The Galley He Rode In, And

Three Others. He Had No Des Barres, No Gaston, No Béziers; He Had Not

Even Mercadet His Captain, And No Thought Where They Might Be. The Trap

Would Have Caught Him Fast.

'Pretty Work,' He Said, 'Pretty Work. But I Will Better It.' He Put

About, And Steered Round Sicily For The Coast Of Dalmatia; Here Was

Caught Again By Furious Gales, Lost Three Ships Out Of The Four He Had,

And Finally Sought Haven At Gazara, A Little Fishing Village On That

Empty Shore. His Intention Was To Travel Home By Way Of Germany And The

Low Countries, And So Land In England While His Brother John Was Still

In France. Either He Had Forgotten, Or Did Not Care To Remember, That

All This Country Was A Fief Of The Archduke Luitpold's. He Knew, Of

Course, That Luitpold Hated Him, But Not That He Held Him Guilty Of

Montferrat's Murder. Suspecting No Great Difficulty, He Sent Up

Messengers To The Lord Of Gazara For A Safe-Conduct For Certain

Merchants, Pilgrims. This Man Was An Austrian Knight Called Gunther.

'Who Are Your Pilgrims?' Gunther Asked; And Was Told, Master Hugh, A

Merchant Of Alost, He And His Servants.

'What Manner Of A Merchant?' Was Gunther's Next Question.

'My Lord,' They Said, Who Had Seen Him, 'A Fine Man, Tall As A Tree, And

Strong And Straight, Having Keen Blue Eyes, And A Reddish Beard On His

Chin, As The Men Of Flanders Do Not Use.'

Gunther Said, 'Let Me See This Merchant,' And Went Down To The Inn Where

King Richard Was.

Now Richard Was Sitting By The Fire, Warming Himself. When Gunther Came

In, Furred And Portly, He Did Not Rise Up; Which Was Unfortunate In A

Pretended Merchant.

'Are You Master Hugh Of Alost?' Gunther Asked, Looking Him Over.

'That Is The Name I Bear,' Said Richard. 'And Who Are You, My Friend?'

The Austrian Stammered. 'Hey, Thou Dear God, I Am Lord Gunther Of This

Castle And Town!' He Said, Raising His Voice. Then The King Got Up To

Make A Reverence, And In So Doing Betrayed His Stature.

'I Should Have Guessed It, Sir, By Your Gentleness In Coming To Visit Me

Here. I Ask Your Pardon.' Thus The King, While Gunther Wondered.

'You Are A Very Tall Merchant, Hugh,' Says He. 'Do They Make Your Sort

In Alost?' King Richard Laughed.

'It Is The Only Advantage I Have Of Your Lordship. For The Rest, My

Countrywomen Make Straight Men, I Think.'

'Were You Bred In Alost, Master Hugh?' Asked Gunther Suspiciously; And

Again Richard Laughed As He Said, 'Ah, You Must Ask My Mother, Lord

Gunther.'

'Lightning!' Was The Austrian's Thought; 'Here Is A Pretty Easy

Merchant.'

He Raised Some Little Difficulties, Vexations Of Routine, Which King

Richard Persistently Laughed At, While Doing His Best To Fulfil Them.

Gunther Did Not Relish This. He Named The Archduke As His Overlord, Hard

Upon Strangers. Richard Let It Slip That He Did Not Greatly Esteem The

Archduke. However, In The End He Got His Safe-Conduct, And All Would

Have Been Well If, On Leaving Gazara, He Had Not Overpaid The Bill.

Overpay Is Not The Word: He Drowned The Bill. In A Hurry For The Road,

The Innkeeper Fretted Him. 'Reckoning, Landlord!' He Cried, With One

Foot In The Stirrup: 'How The Devil Am I To Reckon Half-Way Up A Horse?

Here, Reckon Yourself, My Man, And Content You With These.' He Threw A

Fistful Of Gold Besants On The Flags, Turned His Horse Sharply And

Cantered Out Of The Yard. 'Colossal Man!' Gasped The Innkeeper. 'King Or

Devil, But No Merchant Under The Sun.' So The News Spread Abroad, And

Gunther Puffed His Cheeks Over It. A Six-Foot-Two Man, A Monstrous

Leisurely Merchant, Who Rose Not To The Lord Of A Castle And Town, Who

Did Not Wait For His Lordship's Humour, But Found Laughable Matter In

His Own; Who Was Taller Than The Archduke And Thought His Grace A Dull

Dog; Who Made A Danaë Of His Landlord! Was This Man Jove? Who Could

Think The Archduke A Dull Dog Except An Emperor, Or, Perhaps, A Great

King? A King: Stay Now. There Were Wandering Kings Abroad. How If

Richard Of England Had Lost His Way? Here He Slapped His Thigh: But This

Must Be Richard Of England--What Other King Was So Tall? And In That

Case, O Thunder In The Sky, He Had Let Slip His Archduke's Deadly Enemy!

He Howled For His Lanzknechts, His Boots, Helmet, Great Sword; He Set

Off At Once, And Riding By Forest Ways, Cut Off The Merchant In A Day

And A Night. He Ran Him To Earth In The Small Wooden Inn Of A Small

Wooden Village High Up In The Carinthian Alps, Blomau By Name, Which

Lies In A Forest Clearing On The Road To Gratz.

King Richard Was Drinking Sour Beer In The Kitchen, And Not Liking It.

The Lanzknechts Surrounded The House; Gunther With Two Of Them Behind

Him Came Clattering In. Glad Of The Diversion, Richard Looked Up.

'Ha,