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

Were, In A Scene. One White Figure Lay Heaped Upon The Ground, Another

Was Running By The Wall Towards Him, Furtively And Bent, As The First

Had Come. The Third Actor, He Of The Tower, Had Not Heard The Runner,

But Was Still Stooped Over The Man He Had Evidently Killed, Groping

Probably For Marks Or Papers Upon Him.

'Spur, Spur!' Cried Des Barres, And The Line Went Rattling Down. They

Were Not In Time. The White Runner Was Too Quick For The Killer Of His

Mate: He Did, Indeed, Look Round; But The Other Was Upon Him Before He

Could Rise. There Was A Short Tussle; The Two Rolled Over And Over. Then

The White-Clad Man Got Up, Raised His Fallen Comrade, Shouldered Him,

And Sped Away Into The Smoke Of Chaluz. When Des Barres And His Friends

Were Within Bowshot Of The Tower One Man Only Was Below It; And He Lay

Where He Had Been Stabbed. The White-Robed Murderers, The Living And

The Dead, Were Lost In Smoke. The King And His Party Were Gone. Out Of

The Tower Came Saint-Pol With His Men, Unarmed, Bareheaded, And Waited

Silently In Rank For Des Barres.

This One Came Up At A Gallop. 'My Prisoner, Count Of Saint-Pol,' He

Called Out As He Came; Then Halted His Line By Throwing Up His Hand.

'The King Has Been Shot, Sir Guilhem,' Saint-Pol Said Gravely; 'Not By

Me. I Am The King's Prisoner. Take Me To Him, Lest He Die Before I See

His Eyes.'

'Who Is That Dead Man Of Yours Over There?' Asked Des Barres.

'His Name Is Sieur Gilles De Gurdun, A Knight Of Normandy And Enemy Of

The King's, But Dead (If Dead He Be) On The King's Account. He Killed

The Assassin.'

'I Know That Very Well,' Says Des Barres, 'For I Saw The Deed, Which Was

A Good One. I Must Hunt For Those White-Gowns. Who Might They Be?'

'I Know Nothing Of Them. They Are No Men Of Mine. Their Robes Were All

White, Their Faces All Dark, And They Ran Like Turks. But What Can Turks

Do Here?'

'They Must Be Found,' Said Des Barres, And Sent Out Savaric With Half Of

His Men.

They Picked Up Gilles, Quite Dead Of Two Wounds, One In The Back Of The

Neck, Another Below The Heart. Des Barres Put Him Over His Saddlebow;

Then Took His Prisoners Into Camp.

King Richard Had Been Carried To His Pavilion And Put To Bed. His

Physicians Were With Him, And The Abbot Milo, Quite Unmanned. Gaston Of

Béarn Was Crying Like A Girl At The Door. The Earl Of Leicester Had

Ridden Off For The Queen, Yvo Tibetot For The Count Of Mortain. Des

Barres Learned That They Had Pulled Out The Arrow, A Common One Of

Genoese Make, But Feared Poison. King Richard Had Been Shot In The Right

Lung.

In The Wan Hours Left To Him Came Three Women, One After Another, And

Spoke The Truth So Far As They Knew It Each.

The First Was Alois Of France In The Habit Of A Grey Lady Of

Fontevrault, With A Face More Dead Than Her Cowl, And Hair Like Wet

Weed, But In Her Hollow Eyes The Fire Of Her Mystery; Who Said To The

Watchers By The Door: 'Let Me In. I Am The Voice Of Old Sorrow.' So They

Held Back The Curtains Of The Tent, And She Came Shuffling Forward To

The Long Body On The Bed. At The Sound Of Her Skirts The King Turned His

Altered Face Her Way, Then Rolled His Head Back To The Dark.

'Take Her Away,' He Said In A Whisper; So Des Barres Stood Up Between

Him And The Woman.

But Alois Put Her Hands Out, As A Blind Man Does.

'Soul's Health, Des Barres; I Purge Old Sins. Avoid, All Of You,' She

Said, 'And Leave Me With Him. Save Only His Confessor. What I Have To

Say Must Be Said In Secret, As It Was Done Secretly.'

Richard Sighed. 'Let Her Stay; And Let Milo Stay,' He Said. The Rest

Went Out On Tip-Toe. Alois Came And Knelt At The Head Of The Bed.

'Listen Now, Richard,' Said She; 'For Thy Last Hour Is Near, And Mine

Also. Twice Over I Have Sought To Tell Thee, But Was Denied. Each Time

I Might Have Done Thee A Service; Now I Will Do Thee Good Service. Thou

Art Not Guilty Of Thy Father's Death, Nor He Of My Despair.'

The King Did Not Turn His Head, But Looked Up Sideways, So That She Saw

His Eye Shining. His Lips Moved, Then Stuck Together; So Milo Put A

Sponge With Wine Upon Them. Then He Whispered, 'Tell Me, Alois, Who Was

Guilty With Thee?'

She Said, 'Thy Brother John Of Mortain Was That Man. A Villain Is He.'

A Moaning Sigh Escaped The King, Long-Drawn, Shuddering, Very Piteous.

'Eh, Alois, Alois! Which Of Us Four Was Not A Villain?'

Said Alois, 'What Is Past Is Past, And I Have Told Thee. What Is To Come

I Cannot Tell Thee, For The Past Swallows Me Up. Yet I Say Again, Thy

Brother John Is A Sick Villain, A Secret Villain, And A Thief.'

'God Help Him, God Judge Him,' Said Richard With Another Sigh. 'I Can Do

Neither, Nor Will Not.' He Moaned Again, But So Hopelessly, As Being So

Weary And Fordone, That Abbot Milo Began To Blubber Out Loud. Alois

Lifted Up Her Drawn Face, And Struck Her Breast.

'Ah, Would To God, Richard,' She Cried, 'Would To God I Had Come To Thee

Clean! I Had Saved Thee Then From This Most Bitter Death. For If I Love

Thee Now, Judge How I Had Loved Thee Then.'

He Said, With Shut Eyes, 'None Could Love Me Long, Since None Could

Trust Me, And Not I Myself.' Then He Said Fretfully To The Abbot, 'Take

Her Away, Milo; I Am Tired.'

Alois, Kneeling, Kissed His Dry Forehead. 'Farewell,' She Said, 'King

Richard, Most A King When Most In Bonds, And Most Merciful When Most In

Need Of Mercy. My Work Is Done. Remains To Pray And Prepare.' She Went

Out Noiselessly, As She Had Come In, And No Man Of Them Saw Her Again.

Next Came Queen Berengère, About The Time Of Sunset. She Came Stiffly,

As If Holding Herself In A Trap, With Much Formal Bowing To Death; Quite

White, Like Ivory, In A Black Robe; In Her Hands A Great Crucifix. At

The Door She Paused For A Minute, The Earl Of Leicester Being With Her.

'Grief Is Quick In Me, Leicester,' She Said; Then To The Ushers Of The

Door, 'Does He Live? Will He Know Me? Does He Wake? Does He Not Cry For

Me Now?'

'Madame, The King Sleeps,' They Told Her.

'I Go To Pray For Him,' Said The Queen, And Went In.

Stiffly She Knelt At His Bedhead, And With Both Hands Held Up The

Crucifix To Her Face. She Began To Talk To It In A Low Worn Voice, As

Though She Were Asking The Christ To Reckon Her Misery.

'Thou Christ,' She Complained, 'Thou Christ, Look Upon Me, The Daughter

Of A King, Crucified Terribly With Thee. This Dying Man Is The King My

Husband, Who Denied Me As Thou, Christ, Wert Denied; Who Sought To Put

Me By, And Yet Is Loved. Yet I Love Him, Christ; Yet I Have Worked For

Him Against My Honour, Holding It As Cheap As He Did. When He Was In

Prison I Humbled Myself To Set Him Loose; When He Was Loosed I Held His

Enemies Back, While He, Cruelly, Held Me Back. I Have Prayed For Him,

And Pray Now, While He Lies There, Struck Secretly, And Dies Not Knowing

Me; And Leaves Me Alone, Careless Whether I Live Or Die. Ah, Saviour Of

The World, Do I Suffer Or Not?'

She Awoke The Sick Man, Who Opened His Eyes And Stared About Him. He

Signed To Milo To Draw Nigh, Which The Snuffling Old Man Did.

'Who Is Here?' He Whispered. 'Not--?'

'No, No, Dearest Lord,' Said Milo Quickly. 'But The Queen Is Here.'

'Ah,' Said He, 'Poor Wretch!' And He Sighed. Then He Said, 'Turn Me

Over, Milo.' It Was Done, With A Flux Of Blood To The Mouth. They Stayed

That And Brought Him Round With Aqua Vitæ.

The Queen Was Terribly Moved To See His Ravaged Face. No Doubt She Loved

Him. But She Had Nothing To Say. For Some Time Their Eyes Were Fixed,

Each On The Other; The Queen's Misty, The King's Fever-Bright, Terribly

Searching, Terribly Intelligent. He Read Her Soul.

'Madame,' He Said, But She Could Scarcely Hear Him, 'I Have Done You

Great Wrong, Yet Greater Wrong Elsewhere. I Cannot Die In Comfort

Without Your Pardon; But I Cannot Ask It Of You, For If I Still Had

Years To Live, I Should Do As I Have Done.' A Sob Of Injury Shook The

Queen.

'Richard! Richard! Richard!' She Wailed, 'I Suffer! You Have My Heart;

You Have Always Had It. And What Have I? Nothing, O God! Nothing At

All.'

'Madame,' Said He, 'The Wrong I Did You Was That I Gave You The Right To

Anything. That Was The First And Greatest Wrong. To Give It You I

Thieved, And In Taking It Again I Thieved Again. God Knoweth--' He Shut

His Eyes, And Kept Them Shut. She Called To Him More Urgently, 'Richard,

Richard!' But He Made No Answer, And Appeared To Sleep. The Queen

Shivered And Sniffed, Turned To Her Christ, And So Spent The Night.

The Last To Come Was Jehane In A White Gown; And She Came With The Dawn.

Eager And Flushed She Was, With Dawn-Colour In Her Face; And Stepped

Lightly Over The Dewy Grass, Her Lips Parted And Hair Blown Back. She