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

Master's Command.'

 

'Well,' Said Richard, 'Then I Shall Go Alone. Once More I Shall Go. I Am

Sick To Death Of This Business.'

 

'My Lord Richard,' Cried Saint-Pol, 'I Am No Man To Command You. Yet I

Say, Go. I Know Not What Has Passed Between Your Grace And My Sister

Jehane; But This I Know Very Well. It Will Be A Strange Thing'--He

Laughed, Not Pleasantly--'A Strange Thing, I Say, If You Cannot Bend

That Arbiter To Your Own Way Of Thinking.' Richard Looked At Him Coldly.

 

'If I Could Do That, My Friend,' He Said, 'I Should Not Suffer

Arbitration At All.'

 

'The Proposition Was Not Mine, My Lord,' Urged Saint-Pol.

 

'It Could Not Be, Sir,' Richard Said Sharply. 'I Proposed It Myself,

Because I Consider That A Lady Has The Right To Dispose Of Her Own

Person. She Loved Me Once.'

 

'I Believe That She Is Yours At This Hour, Sire.'

 

'That Is What I Propose To Find Out,' Said Richard. 'Enough. What News

Have They In Paris?'

 

Saint-Pol Could Not Help Himself; He Was Bursting With A Budget He Had

Received From The South. 'They Greatly Admire A Sirvente Of Bertran De

Born's, Sire.'

 

'What Is The Stuff Of The Sirvente?'

 

'It Is A Scandalous Subject, Sire. He Calls It The Sirvente Of Kings,

And Speaks Much Evil Of Your Order.' Richard Laughed.

 

'I Will Warrant Him To Do That Better Than Any Man Alive, And Allow Him

Some Reason For It. I Think I Will Go To See Bertran.'

 

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 4 (How Jehane Stroked What Alois Had Made Fierce) Pg 23

'Ha, Sire,' Said Saint-Pol With Meaning, 'He Will Tell You Many Things,

Some Good, And Some Not So Good.'

 

'Be Sure He Will,' Said Richard. 'That Is Bertran's Way.'

 

He Would Trust No One With His Present Reflections, And Seek No Outside

Strength Against His Present Temptations. He Had Always Had His Way; It

Had Seemed To Come To Him By Right, By The _Droit De Seigneur_, The

Natural Law Which Puts The Necks Of Fools Under The Heels Of Strong Men.

No Need To Consider Of All That: He Knew That The Thing Desired Lay To

His Hand; He Could Make Jehane His Again If He Would, And Neither King

Of England Nor King Of France, Nor Council Of Westminster Nor Diet Of

The Empire Could Stop Him--If He Would. But That, He Felt Now, Was Just

What He Would Not. To Beat Her Down With Torrents Of Love-Cries; To Have

Her Trembling, Cowed, Drummed Out Of Her Wits By Her Own Heart-Beats; To

Compel, To Dominate, To Tame, When Her Young Pride And Young Strength

Were The Things Most Beautiful In Her: Never, By The Cross Of Christ!

That, I Suppose, Is As Near To True Love As A Man Can Get, To Reverence

In A Girl That Which Holds Her Apart. Richard Got So Near Precisely

Because He Was Less Lover Than Poet. You May Doubt, If You Choose (With

Abbot Milo), Whether He Had Love In Him. I Doubt. But Certainly He Was A

Poet. He Saw Jehane All Glorious, And Gave Thanks For The Sight. He Felt

To Touch Heaven When He Neared Her; But He Did Not Covet Her Possession,

At The Moment. Perhaps He Felt That He Did Possess Her: It Is A Poet's

Way. So Little, At Any Rate, Did He Covet, That, Having Made Up His Mind

What He Would Do, He Sent Gaston Of Béarn To Saint-Pol-La-Marche With A

Letter For Jehane, In Which He Said: 'In Two Days I Shall See You For

The Last Or For All Time, As You Will'--And Then Possessed Himself In

Patience The Appointed Number Of Hours.

 

Gaston Of Béarn, Romantic Figure In Those Grey Latitudes, Pale,

Black-Eyed, Freakishly Bearded, Dressed In Bright Green, Rode His Way

Singing, Announced Himself To The Lady As The Child Of Love; And When He

Saw Her Kissed Her Foot.

 

'Starry Wonder Of The North,' He Said, Kneeling, 'I Bring Fuel To Your

Ineffable Fires. Our King Of Lovers And Lover Among Kings Is All At Your

Feet, Sighing In This Paper.' He Seemed To Talk In Capitals, With A

Flourish Handed Her The Scroll. He Had The Gratification To See Her Clap

A Hand To Her Side Directly She Touched It; But No More. She Perused It

With Unwavering Eyes In A Stiff Head.

 

'Farewell, Sir,' She Said Then; 'I Will Prepare For My Lord.'

 

'And I, Lady,' Said Gaston, 'In Consequence Of A Vow I Have Vowed My

Saint, Will Await His Coming In The Forest, Neither Sleeping Nor Eating

Until He Has His Enormous Desires. Farewell, Lady.'

 

He Went Out Backwards, To Keep His Promise. The Brown Woodland Was Gay

With Him For A Day And A Night; For He Sang Nearly All The Time With

Unflagging Spirits. But Jehane Spent Part Of The Interval In The Chapel,

With Her Hands Crossed Upon Her Fine Bosom. The God In Her Heart Fought

With Him On The Altar. She Said No Prayers; But When She Left The Place

She Sent A Messenger For Gilles De Gurdun, The Blunt-Nosed Norman Knight

Who Loved Her So Much That He Said Nothing About It.

 

This Gurdun, Pricking Through The Woods, Came Upon Gaston Of Béarn,

Dazzling As A Spring Tree And Singing Like An Inspired Machine. He

Pulled Up At The Wonderful Sight, And Scowled. It Is The Proper Norman

Greeting. Gaston Treated Him As Part Of The Landscape, Like The Rest Of

It Mournful, But Provocative Of Song.

 

'Give You Good-Day, Beau Sire,' Said Gilles; Gaston Waved His Hand And

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Went On Singing At The Top Of His Voice. Then Gilles, Who Was Pressed,

Tried To Pass; And Gaston Folded His Arms.

 

'Ha, Beef,' Said He, 'None Pass Here But The Brave.'

 

'Out, Parrot,' Quoth Gilles, And Plunged Through The Wood.

 

Because Of Gaston's Vow There Was No Blood Shed At The Moment, But He

Had Hopes That He Might Be Released In Time. 'There Goes A Dead Man,'

Was Therefore His Comment Before He Resumed.

 

But Jehane, When She Heard The Horse, Ran Out To Meet His Rider. Her

Face Was Alight. 'Come In, Come In,' She Said, And Took Him By The Hand.

He Followed Her With A Beating Heart, Neither Daring Nor Knowing How To

Say Anything. She Led Him Into The Little Dark Chapel.

 

'Gilles, Gilles,' She Said Panting, 'Do You Love Me, Gilles?'

 

He Was Hoarse, Could Hardly Speak For The Crack In His Throat. 'O God,'

He Said Under His Breath, 'O God, Jehane, How I Love You!'

 

Here, Because Of A Certain Flicker In Her Eyes, He Made Forward; But She

Put Out Her Two Hands The Length Of Her Arms And Fenced Him Off. 'No,

No, Gilles, Not Yet.' Pain Sharpened Her Voice. 'Listen First To Me. I

Do Not Love You; But I Am Frightened. Some One Is Coming; You Must Be

Here To Help Me. I Give Myself To You--I Will Be Yours--I Must--There Is

No Other Way.'

 

She Stopped; You Could Have Heard The Thudding Of Her Heart.

 

'Give Then,' Said Gilles With A Croak, And Took Her.

 

She Felt Herself Engulfed In A Sea Of Fire, But Set Her Teeth And

Endured The Burning Of That Death. The Poor Fellow Did But Kiss Her Once

Or Twice, And Kissed No Closer Than The Angevin; But The Grace Is One

That Goes By Favour. Gilles, Nevertheless, Took Primer Seisin And Was

Content. Afterwards, Hand In Hand, Trembling Each, The Possessed And The

Possessing, They Stood Before The Twinkling Lamp Which Hinted At The Son

Of God, And Waited What Must Happen.

 

In About Half An Hour's Time Jehane Heard The Long Padding Tread She

Knew So Well, And Took A Deep Breath. Next Gilles Heard Something.

 

'One Comes. Who Comes?' He Said Whispering.

 

'Richard Of Anjou. I Need You Now.'

 

'Do You Want Me To--?' Gilles Honestly Thought He Was To Kill The Count.

She Undeceived Him Soon.

 

'To Kill Richard, Gilles? Nay, Man, He Is Not For Your Killing.' She

Gave A Short Laugh, Not Very Pleasant For Her Lover To Hear. But Gilles,

For All That, Put Hand To Hilt. The Count Of Poictou Stooped At The

Entry And Saw Them Together.

 

It Wanted But That To Blow The Embers. Something Tigerish Surged In Him,

Some Gust Of Jealousy, Some Arrogant Tide In The Blood Not All Clean. He

Moved Forward Like A Wind And Caught The Girl Up In His Arms, Lifted Her

Off Her Feet, Smothered Her Cry. 'My Jehane, My Jehane, Who Dares--?'

Gilles Touched Him On The Shoulder, And He Turned Like Lightning With

Jehane Held Fast. His Breath Came Quick And Short Through His Nose:

Gilles Believed His Last Hour At Hand, But Made The Most Of It.

Volume 91 Book 1 (The Book Of Yea) Chapter 4 (How Jehane Stroked What Alois Had Made Fierce) Pg 25

'What Now, Dog?' Thus The Lean Richard.

 

'Set Down The Lady, My Lord,' Said Doughty Gilles. 'She Is Promised To

Me.'

 

'Heart Of God, What Is This?' He Held Back His Head, Like A Snake, That

He Might See What He Would Strike At. 'Is It True, Girl?' Jehane Looked

Up From His Shoulder, Where She Had Been Hiding Her Face. She Could Not

Speak, But She Nodded.

 

'It Is True? Thou Art Promised?'

 

'I Am Promised, My Lord,' Said Jehane. 'Let Me Go.'

 

He Put Her Down At Once, Between Himself And Gurdun. Gurdun Went To Take

Up Her Hand Again, But At A Look From Richard Forbore. The Count Went On

With His Interrogatories, Outwardly As Calm As A Field Of Snow.

 

'In Whose Name Art Thou Promised To This Knight, Jehane? In Thy

Brother's?'

 

'No, Lord. In My Own.'

 

'Am I Nothing?' She Began To Cry.

 

'Oh, Oh!' She Wailed, 'You Are Everything, Everything In The World.'

 

He Turned Away From Her, And Stood Facing The Altar, With Folded Arms,

Considering. Gilles Had The Wit To Be Silent; The Girl Fought For

Breath. Richard, In Fact, Was Touched To The Heart, And Capable Of Any

Sacrifice Which Could Seem The Equivalent Of This. He Must Always Lead,

Even In Magnanimity; But It Was A Better Thing Than Emulation Moved Him

Now. When He Next Turned With A Calm, True Face To Jehane There Was Not

A Shred Of The Angevin In Him; All Was Burnt Away.

 

'What Is The